Bones Season 7:5 The Indulgence in the Interim
by Bonesology Writers Collective
Summary: A continuation of the storyline we started for our virtual season 6.5.
1. Falling Down, Falling Down

**Aaaand...we're back!**

**Once again, a group of Bonesology writers have gathered together to continue with our own personal Bones story line. You don't have to have read the previous season (Season 6.5: The Satisfaction in the Summer) to follow along, but it would be helpful in order to understand certain new story arcs and characters.**

**We will be continuing this series through the current winter hiatus, once again posting here and at every Thursday.**

**Thank you for reading and we hope you enjoy what we have planned for you!**

**~The Bonesology Writers Collective~**  
><strong>Brainysmrfs<strong>  
><strong>NatesMama<strong>  
><strong>Squinttoyou<strong>  
><strong>Rynogeny<strong>  
><strong>Thnx4theGum<strong>  
><strong>GCatsPJ's<strong>  
><strong>Stayuff<strong>  
><strong>and TheValiumSofa once again stepping in to keep us all in line!<strong>

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><p><span>Bones Season 7.5x01: Falling Down, Falling Down ~ Written by Squinttoyou and NatesMama<span>

"Parker, where are your shoes?" Brennan's question as she turned from the large kitchen island ended up being directed at the boy's back. "We have to leave in twenty minutes, and you cannot be late."

An eye roll he would have never been brave enough to try in front of his father accompanied the whiney reply. "Boooones….I'm ready! I just…" He looked around the room again; his focus diverted by the television and his naturally short pre-teen attention span. "I, uh…."

"Parker Matthew Booth, get your shoes on." The low voice of his father from the entryway was enough to spur the boy into action, and the missing Converse were located and pulled on as Brennan pressed a toasted bagel into his hand to eat on the way to school.

She watched as Booth's son idly collected the rest of his belongings, packing them haphazardly into a duffle bag that was sitting on the sofa situated in front of the large plasma that dominated the living room of Booth and Brennan's house. Brennan hadn't expected to fall into this picture of domesticity so easily and so willingly, but if the previous year had taught her anything, it was that she had to grab her happiness when she could and hold onto it tightly, with both hands. And the added surprise of her pregnancy had only served to make her even more committed to making her relationship with Booth work. For both them and their collective children. So when they had stumbled onto the fixer-upper home in Rockville, Maryland, with its large, fenced-in yard, gorgeous tree line, hand-carved fixtures and four spacious bedrooms, they took it as a sign and put in a bid almost immediately. Booth claimed he could do most of the work needed to make the house into the home they wanted on his own, and not a few of his weekends lately had been spent in the attached garage sanding molding, mounting wainscoting and finishing fireplace fixtures. In almost no time, the place where Booth and Brennan had chosen to raise their family began to come together just as they had imagined.

"We have got to start getting up earlier, apparently." Booth moved to lean against Brennan's shoulder gently, grimacing as he surveyed the damage to their normally-tidy kitchen. "This morning rush is killing me."

Brennan shook her head. "I've tried to change the time on the alarm clock, and you just hit the snooze button over and over until the original intention becomes moot."

"So this is my fault?" Booth tried to sound truly offended, but Brennan saw right through him.

"Yes. It is." She took a small sip of herbal tea and reached for her bag. "Now, if we hurry, we can-"

"Dad! Bones! You have to see this!" Parker's voice, sounding almost panicked, pulled them quickly from the kitchen to the large family room.

The television was turned to the local ABC station, where a somber reporter sat behind a desk talking about "massive loss of life" and "suspicions of terrorist attacks", and it took Booth a moment to grasp what he was seeing in front of him.

"Booth…" Brennan breathed. "Is that…is it…"

"Yeah, Bones. That's what it is." He gave her a sideways look as both of their cell phones began ringing at once. "It looks like the Delaware Memorial Bridge collapsed."

B&B

Brennan watched from the safety of the SUV as Booth talked with a Delaware National Guard private stationed just outside ground zero with several other members of his unit. The soldiers were initially tasked with keeping the general public at bay, but now, hours after the initial disaster, they were simply trying to maintain some semblance of order.

Booth had immediately jumped from the car and attempted to get a situation report from the armed men stationed determinedly in front of a bank of wooden construction horses and various rescue vehicles, but he was turned away until his credentials could be verified, which gave both he and Brennan enough time to stare in disbelief at the ruins of what was once the world's second-largest twin suspension bridge.

One span was completely collapsed, while the other was sloping sharply towards the Delaware River on the Delaware side. The New Jersey side of the right span was, from their viewpoint, the only structurally-intact portion of the bridge. Cars, trucks and buses littered the ground and river under dangling chucks of steel and concrete, some of which continued to fall into the dark, swirling waters. Search and rescue teams from the Delaware, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Maryland state police systematically moved from car to car and body to body as they tried to pull as many live victims out of the horror of twisted metal, smoke and fire. More National Guard troops circled the area, directing rescuers to the correct tents while simultaneously moving the less gravely injured to triage areas.

Neither partner spoke, the visual before them stealing any words either could form. The silence in the SUV seemed to stretch on for hours, when the private finally moved a barrier and waved Booth through. They glanced at each other, and Brennan sighed heavily before they faced forward again and mentally prepared themselves for the task ahead.

Once they had secured the vehicle and removed Brennan's gear from the back, they were in complete and total work mode. They separated when Booth spotted a group of suits he assumed were in charge while Brennan made her way over to a tent bearing the Jeffersonian logo, set up just outside the green zone, where Cam and Hodgins moved around, preparing their equipment.

"Dr. Brennan!" Cam shook her head as she crossed to brief her colleague. "I'm relieved you're here." She looked over Brennan's shoulder at Booth, who was speaking to the men in charge. "Right now, it's a complete mess. DEMA and FEMA as well as Homeland Security are fighting for jurisdiction, the Governor called us in via the FBI and now they're trying to insert themselves…" Cam sighed. "And all we want to do is get in there and help."

Brennan nodded seriously. "Booth is speaking with whoever is in charge so we should be permitted to begin shortly." Turning to Hodgins, she continued. "Dr. Hodgins, are you prepared to collect evidence beyond your usual scope of expertise? I do not feel comfortable allowing interns to assist in the recovery, if we can at all avoid it."

"Absolutely, Dr. Brennan." Hodgins made a show of looking more confident than he felt, knowing that the situation called for their absolute best as expediently as possible. "And your interns have all been assembled in the lab, awaiting the arrival of the remains and evidence."

"All the interns?" Brennan asked, eyebrow raised.

Hodgins let himself smile a bit. "Yes, even Miss McDaniels." He glanced at Cam as she let out a soft snort. "I say we leave that as a surprise for Booth."

"Poor Seeley." Cam murmured. "At least he takes it in stride. I think he even likes her almost as much as he likes Wendell."

Brennan moved to the makeshift exam tables and began cataloging their supplies. "Although I find Miss McDaniels' affection for Booth to be slightly unprofessional…" A small grin crossed her face. "I certainly can't fault her for finding him pleasing to look at."

The trio were interrupted in their conversation when Booth came striding into the tent. "Hey Cam, Hodgins. You guys are cleared to begin transporting the…the bodies that have already been recovered." He winced, rubbing the back of his neck in irritation. "We have to coordinate with DEMA as far as evidence collected that isn't, you know…a body. But they've acknowledged Bones as the ranking expert so they'll at least get off our backs on that."

"As well they should. I am the ranking expert, as is Cam." Brennan picked up her kit and motioned to the triage area where the casualties were being placed. "Are you ready, Cam?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Hodgins, you need to take an emergency response tech with you before you do anything. They'll be able to show you where you need to be and where it's safe for you to be." Booth pointed at the scientist, serious expression never wavering. "I'm not kidding, bug man. Things are still unstable, and probably will be for awhile. You need to listen to the experts."

Hodgins nodded. "I will, man."

"I'll be speaking with the survivors who are mobile and trying not to shoot any of these idiots from Homeland Security." He held up his phone to the three. "Text me if you need me, and I'll find you." As they passed, Booth reached out and lightly gripped Brennan's wrist. "Bones." Her eyes locked with his at his dark tone. "Please be careful. Don't lift anything too heavy, watch where the structural crews are working and please ask for help if you need it. Please?"

Battling against her innate need to declare her independence and realizing that in this untenable situation Booth needed to hold onto some semblance of normalcy and control, Brennan acquiesced. "Alright, Booth. I'll be careful." She reached out and squeezed his hand on her arm. "Now let's get to work."

* * *

><p>"The destruction is really unbelievable," Sweets muttered as he surveyed the scene. His eyes moved along the damaged bridge, each ruptured segment making his gut twist in regret. A few cars, trucks and even one bus still dangled from the edge of the structure and he hoped those commuters had managed to escape their fate completely. "Are they sure it only took one explosion to cause all this?"<p>

Booth shrugged, the movement of his shoulders crisp as he worked to retain the horror he felt. Years as a soldier and federal agent had hardened him to sights of destruction, but that didn't mean he could ignore them. "Witness reports tend to suggest one explosion. Homeland Security doesn't buy it, but I'm inclined to wait for some test results."

Sweets nodded trying to meet the standard Booth was setting. "Good idea. How long before Hodgins can give some answers?"

"Day at least," Booth answered. His phone buzzed and he answered immediately. "Booth." The terse tone of his voice softened immediately. "Hey, Bones." Sweets watched as the big man rubbed a hand across his forehead. "No, I'm fine. It's just tough to see. You know?" Booth turned slightly and saw the approving look Sweets wore as he eavesdropped on their conversation. "What?" he demanded all the tenderness gone as he addressed his companion.

"Nothing, I just think it's good you talk to Dr. Brennan about those kinds of things. This is a stressful and traumatic situation and talking about your reaction is the best way to work through it."

"Mind your own business." Booth's attention was diverted as Brennan asked him a question. "He thinks it's good I was talking to you about the crime scene." He paused to let her speak and then nodded as he continued. "I know! Who else does he think I'd talk to?"

Sweets rolled his eyes and gave a sigh of frustration. He wasn't sure why he made the effort any more. He knew better, knew the mention of a psychological evaluation of their relationship, even in passing, resulted in an immediate closing of ranks, the two of them protected each other fiercely. They always had, but it was far more pronounced now that they were truly together. He knew it would happen, but he just couldn't help himself. They were too damn tempting. Booth turned to face him and he spoke quickly to signal his surrender. "I didn't say anything!"

"Shut up and listen," Booth ordered and Sweets realized Brennan had called with information.

"I'm concentrating on the burned and dismembered bodies," she continued. "Victim number one was badly burned, but easily identified by dental record. He was Aaron Box, the tug's co-pilot. Victim number two was also a tugboat crewman, a twenty-six year old ex-con named Tyler Star."

"That's quick work, Bones," Booth praised.

"The flesh on Tyler's left hand undamaged and while the upper two-thirds of the arm were defleshed to the bone it was still attached to the bulk of his torso. Fingerprints were easily matched with his parole records."

Sweets swallowed noisily as the mental image Brennan was providing recalled the memory of bodies, and parts of bodies, being pulled from the river. Booth looked slightly pale himself, but he sounded more in control of his reaction. "The boat crew is a good place to start. Turner and I will get on it."

"Tugboat crews aren't the kind of unit to bond as a group of sailors might," Sweets theorized. "But if this was politically or emotionally motivated they might have acted as a team."

"Triple suicide bombers?" Booth scoffed.

"Unusual," Sweets admitted.

"Conjecture," Brennan scolded. "I have sixty-three more bodies to examine," she reminded them. "Further information should be gathered before we assign a motive."

"Right," Booth agreed. "Keep on it, Bones. Turner and I will see what we can find at the freight company."

Sweets was opening his mouth to suggest he spend some time working up a profile on potential suspects when movement diverted his attention. His eyes widened slightly as he watched a tall woman pick her way across the riverbank with determined steps. "Is that… " Sweets squinted to get a better look at the woman, "I can't believe it…What is she doing here?" he asked.

Booth followed his gaze and groaned. "Damn Homeland Security, they are all over this thing and throwing their weight around. I already had it out with this one over Hodgins' access to the boat. Now what does she want?"

"Homeland Security?" Sweets repeated.

"Booth, what's wrong with Sweets?" Brennan asked. "He sounds panicked."

Booth looked at the younger man and had to admit Brennan was correct. The kid not only sounded panicked, he looked it. "Sweets, what's wrong with you?"

"Stephanie Roberts," he answered his words stunned and soft. "The Homeland Security agent is Stephanie Roberts?"

"Who?"

"We went to high school together."

Brennan's voice held understanding. "Isn't she the girl you said was unattainable and whom provided you with masturbatory fantasies as a teenager?"

Sweets' eyes closed and he silently cursed Brennan's perfect memory. He really should watch what he revealed in those after-case celebrations. "Yes, Dr. Brennan."

Booth's look held both amusement and sympathy and he took pity on the profiler. "Bones, I'll call you when I have something. Keep me updated on your progress."

"Of course," she agreed and they heard her end the call.

"We've all got one," Booth said voicing his sympathy to the still struggling Sweets. He waved a hand to acknowledge Roberts' call and turned to face her standing shoulder to shoulder with his friend. "Play it cool," he advised.

"Yeah, right, cool," Sweets agreed. "I can do that."

"Agent Booth," Roberts called while she was still several feet away. "I thought I made it clear that this was not your investigation."

"Oh, yeah, she's a peach," Booth muttered to Sweets. "I can see why you wanted her." Roberts was joining them and he stepped forward as if to confront her claim physically. "The words 'joint operation' imply it is, Roberts."

The tall brunette's eyes flashed with anger but she bit back her immediate response. Her hands moved to her hips and she shook her head. "The FBI needs to retrain you people. Maybe a little remedial instruction would help you remember you are no longer the big dog."

"Remedial!" Booth snapped.

Sweets tried to intervene. "I think what Agent Roberts was trying to express is that national security concerns allow her agency a broader scope."

"I can speak for myself there, junior," Roberts sneered at him before turning to Booth. "But you should listen to your sidekick, Booth."

"I'm not a sidekick," Sweets objected. "I'm a psychologist, Dr. Lance Sweets."

"Psychologist?" Roberts said dismissively. "Why don't you run along and counsel some of these civilians and leave the matters of national security to the professionals?"

"National security my ass," Booth growled. "Don't make this more than it is, Roberts."

Her eyes flashed again and she took a step forward. "I want that evidence you stole turned over to my forensic team immediately."

"Wanting it won't make it happen," Booth answered. "I didn't steal anything. That evidence belongs with my team."

"This is a national security issue!"

"It's a disaster," Booth snapped back. "With nearly seventy badly damaged bodies and no lead on who is responsible."

"We'll find who is responsible."

"Not without my team you won't. The Jeffersonian lab is the finest in the country and the use of its services comes only with FBI involvement. You need us, Roberts. No one can find answers in those bodies the way Dr. Brennan can. Your forensic team can't come close to discovering all that Hodgins and our team will be able to learn from the wreckage. This is a joint operation, Roberts, so just cool your jets and when we have some answers for you I'll let you know."

Roberts stepped back and her voice dripped with malice "Non-cooperation won't do your career any favors. Don't say I didn't try and save you when this rolls back on you."

Booth shook his head. "Come on, Sweets. We have work to do and I'm tired of playing the 'my jurisdiction is bigger than yours' game."

Sweets followed as Booth walked away leaving a fuming Roberts still standing on the river bank. He looked over his shoulder as they neared Booth's vehicle. "I don't think she remembers me," he said sadly.

B&B

The lab was not designed for this kind of mass casualty examination and they had been forced to improvise. Angela walked past the row of gurneys awaiting Brennan's attention with her eyes averted. They had seen their fair share of victims pass through the lab since they began their work with Booth, but having this many innocent victims cued up like a line of patient shoppers was almost too much for her. The burned, crushed and dismembered people lying here had done nothing more than start their day and been caught at the wrong place at the wrong time. One tiny hand peeked from beneath a blanket draped gurney and tears pricked her eyes. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Clutching the notes in her hand Angela promised the child they would find out who did this.

The platform was crowded. Brennan had trusted her senior interns to triage the victims and those bodies most likely to hold clues to the explosion occupied the tables. The interns worked in teams of two to catalogue the injuries of each body. As they worked toward identification their conversations were intense bursts of shared information that filled the air with the sound of tension. At the first table Brennan worked alone, her attention focused on a charred body burned beyond recognition. The bubble of silence that seemed to surround her was an oasis of calm in a cacophony of activity. Angela stepped to the table and welcomed that sense of peace.

"I sent what I had on the first two victims to Booth and Turner," the artist reported. "Star's conviction was for auto-theft when he was seventeen. He used to boost cars off the street for his uncle who ran a chop shop. Baltimore PD busted the uncle and the kid went down too. He's been on the straight and narrow since he got out. Box looks like your everyday blue collar family man."

Brennan's eyes lifted to look at her friend as she hunched over the body. "You believe they are not responsible?"

Angela sighed and shrugged. "I think they are like every other victim here," she said through sudden tears. "None of them deserved this, Bren."

"Someone is responsible," Brennan answered coolly. "Where is Hodgins?"

"Ookey room," Angela supplied. "He's sorting through what he could salvage of the boat."

"I have something for him," Brennan said as she carefully pried something from the blackened wrist of her victim.

The twisted metal and plastic glob Brennan placed on a collection tray intrigued her and Angela bent forward. "Do you just need Jack to identify what it is?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm unable to discern that," Brennan admitted.

"I think I can help."

Brennan looked up. "You recognize it?"

"I think it's a Rosary."

Brennan looked down at the clump of fused material. "You are certain?"

"Reasonably," Angela said with a shrug. Her ability to see patterns and reconstruct spatial relationships rarely failed her and she felt confident in her assertion. "Let me run some scans and see if I can confirm."

Brennan nodded and handed her the tray. "Am I correct that this implies guilt?"

Angela looked at the charred husk of a human being lying between them. "Yeah, Sweetie it does."

Brennan was also staring at the body. "I find it both frustrating and satisfying to think the person who may be responsible died this way."

"Yeah, I know how you feel," Angela agreed.

B&B

"Looks like PD is already here," Turner noted as she and Booth stepped from his vehicle.

"I had them send a car," Booth explained. "Just in case there's some involvement I wanted eyes on the place."

"Good thinking, Boss." Booth scowled at her and Turner lifted an eyebrow. "What?"

"I do know what I'm doing."

Turner looked completely confused. "Of course you do. You're the best damn agent in the Bureau."

Booth grunted. "Thanks, and sorry."

"What has your jock in a knot?" Turner asked as she pulled the door to the building open for him to enter.

"Let's just say Agent Roberts of Homeland Security is ...difficult."

"I haven't had the pleasure, but from what Lance said I think that makes me lucky."

It was Booth's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Sweets said something to you about Roberts?"

The younger agent was instantly suspicious. "Why wouldn't Lance talk to me about Roberts? Is there something I shouldn't know?"

"No, nothing," Booth denied quickly. He wanted to kick himself for becoming distracted by personal issues. The last thing he wanted was to set precedent for discussing the Turner and Hooch relationship while on duty. "Let's just start asking some questions so we can catch this son of a bitch, ok?"

"Yeah, ok," Turner agreed. The way she said it let Booth know he was likely going to owe Sweets an apology.

A portly man with thinning hair and round face was talking quietly with two uniformed officers and Booth stepped purposefully toward them. Quickly identifying himself and Turner to the cops he got straight to business. "Who's this?"

"Darren Mist," the older man offered extending his hand before an officer could reply. "I own the boat and the company. You let me know what you need and you got it. I want to know what happened just as much as you do."

"Mr. Mist, our experts have identified two bodies at the scene as those of your crew. What can you tell me about Aaron Box and Tyler Star?"

Mist's expression grew mournful and he sighed. "I guess I was really hoping for a miracle," he admitted sadly. "I was hoping it wasn't our boat. I know that's crazy, but I still hoped, you know?" He took another deep breath and then seemed to pull himself together enough to give a true answer to Booth's question. "Box was a good guy. Been working for me for twenty years, he started before he even graduated high school. Married his sweetheart, raised three kids, never missed a day of work. There is no way he had anything to do with this thing."

Booth nodded accepting that at face value. The guy looked clean on paper, so hearing it wasn't a surprise. "Star had a record. Any chance he was into something again?"

"No." Mists' denial was adamant. "That kid had turned himself around. Sure he had some trouble in the past, but I just can't imagine he would do anything so horrible. No," he repeated shaking his head. "He couldn't have done this."

"Was there anything unusual this morning? Anything that you can say was out of the ordinary?"

Mist took a moment and then shook his head. "No, it was just another average Monday. The guys checked in at four-thirty, did the standard pre-trip inspection and signaled for dispatch right on time at five o'clock."

"Pre-trip inspection?" Turner interrupted. "What's involved in that?"

"It's a safety inspection. They check everything before they leave port; mandatory before the start of every day."

"Is there a checklist for that? Any paperwork?"

"Yeah, actually we just automated the process. I can get that for you with a click of a button."

"Anything else you can tell us?" Booth asked.

"Well, I was hoping you could tell me something?" Booth's head cocked curiously. It wasn't often someone asked him for information. He waited and Mist continued. "I had a three man crew on that boat. I wondered if you found my third guy? Roger Lair was the captain."

He was wearing a hopeful, almost desperate expression. All Booth could do was shake his head. "At this time only two victims have been identified. But the forensic team is still working on it. I'm sure we'll be in touch if he is identified." Mist looked uncomfortable and Booth grew suspicious. "Mr. Mist, is there something you need to tell us?"

"It's just, geez, this is going to sound bad if I say it."

"Sir, if you have information relevant to this case you are obligated to reveal it," Turner lectured.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just...the guy has had a bad year. I don't want to make it worse by saying something that's really not important."

"Why don't you tell us and we'll worry about whether or not it's important," Booth suggested as he began to lose patience.

"This was Roger's last week. He got downsized."

"You mean fired," Booth supplied.

Mist flinched at the harsh word. "See, that makes it sound bad. It's not like he is disgruntled or anything. It's just the economy is bad and the company had to make some changes. Roger, he had lots of experience, but his performance had been spotty. He missed a lot of days, called in pretty often over the last couple of years. It's all in his file and I didn't really have a choice. He was the guy I had to cut. I tried to do what I could for him. Gave him the best severance I could, let him work this last week so he'd have a check until the end of the month."

"How did he take it when you gave him the news?" Booth asked.

"You mean did he get mad or something? No, Roger wasn't like that. The guy took bad news like a champ. He's had his fair share in the years I've known him and he just takes it. I said my peace and he listened. Never argued with me, never tried to change my mind or threaten me. Heck, he even told me he understood and not to worry about it."

"Yeah, ok. Thanks for the info," Booth said as he considered the implications.

"How about you grab us those files and we'll move on to our next interview," Turner suggested.

"Sure," Mist agreed. He moved toward a computer and Turner followed.

B&B

The team, interns included, gathered in Brennan's office to go over the case details they had so far. Brennan handed Cam a set of x-rays and a folder before taking a seat behind her desk. "We have positively identified the remains of Victim #23 as those of the boat captain, Roger Lair."

"That means that all three crew members are accounted for." Booth nodded. "Once we can account for all the victims who were originally on the boat, we can go from there."

Hodgins spoke next. "You still thinking it's an inside job and not terrorism?"

"Yeah." Booth said. "It just doesn't feel right."

"Well, I don't have any evidence to suggest anything else." He handed Booth and Cam copies of his report. "The explosives were everyday materials, anything anyone could get anywhere. Ammonium nitrate, nitromethane, Tovex, which is ammonium nitrate and methylammonium nitrate combined and ammonium nitrate-infused fuel oil. Near as I can tell, they were placed in the hold of the ship."

"What was used as the detonator?" Brennan asked, sitting forward to lean on her desk.

Hodgins shook his head. "I couldn't find one, which leads me to believe that the impact was not as a result of the explosion…"

"But what triggered the explosion." Booth finishes the thought. "But could a boat that size, even loaded to the brim with explosives, take down a bridge that large?"

At that, Angela spoke up. "Actually, in 1969 an oil tanker struck the fender system on the bridge and caused one million dollars worth of damage. Because the fenders were designed to absorb impact, there was reportedly no structural damage to the bridge, but…"

"It's possible they missed something." Brennan stepped in this time, sensing her friend's next point. "Ang, where did the tanker hit the bridge?"

"In the same exact spot as the boat did."

Hodgins nodded, convinced. "I think that, with the combination of explosives, bridge weakness and a little dumb luck, it could have been a deliberate act by the crew."

Booth sat up. "Can you prove that?"

The entomologist looked to his boss, excited question in his eyes. "I might be able to, if…."

"Yes, fine." Cam sighed, resigned. "Do your experiment, but-" She held up a hand, stopping Hodgins dead as he leapt out of his chair. "You will use some of the interns to help you and I want them returned to Dr. Brennan without a scratch on them." At Hodgins suspicious look, she amended her order. "Return them to Dr. Brennan in the same condition as they appear right now."

"Cam, it'll be fine." Clapping his hands, he turned to the eager faces behind him. "Okay, who wants to help?"

* * *

><p>Sweets found the cool morning a welcome relief. If they did this any later in the day the heat would be stifling. Despite the pleasant temperature a bead of sweat dripped from his brow angling a ticklish trail for his eye. He dipped his head to his shoulder and wiped it away as he continued to move.<p>

"What's the matter? Getting tired?"

He glanced at Turner who moved effortlessly next to him. "No." Her smile reminded him of Booth; it was a little too cocky and far too amused. The good thing was on her it looked sexy. Determined to wipe it off her cute little mouth he drew in a deep, but jagged breath and doubled his effort.

Claudia's soft chuckle sounded behind him and almost instantly she was again jogging at his side. "Want to pick it up a little, huh?" she taunted. "Good idea."

Sweets' lips pinched together as he concentrated on finding the proper rhythm. He was a decent runner, always had been, but these workouts with his girlfriend were a challenge. The quiet morning was beautiful and the blue sky and scent of blooming flowers helped wash away the horrifying images they had seen yesterday. Letting the sounds of morning bird song and the steady pounding of their feet sooth him he settled into the fluid movement he was searching for.

They ran for the next mile in silence and he set the pace just a fraction quicker than their normal jog. It felt good to exert himself like this and he relaxed. And just as he felt an endorphin rush that would allow him to sprint the final distance Turner spoke. "So, Booth had some interesting information about Stephanie Roberts."

Sweets tripped on the sidewalk and fell. His arms pinwheeled as he went down and he skidded across the grass as his momentum carried him forward. Turner had not stopped but she had turned around, running backwards, as she watched to make certain he was not truly hurt. When she saw him scramble to his feet she smirked and then turned forward again to surge into a full speed run.

"Claude!" Sweets called after her as he followed.

"I want details!" she answered without slowing.

"There's nothing to tell! I swear!"

They had less than fifty yards to go and Turner was ahead by nearly half that distance. Feeling suddenly determined he drew a deep breath and forced himself into a faster run. He was gaining on her, but she reached their traditional finish line well ahead of him. He watched her slow and then fall into a cooling walk as she waited for him. Without slowing he barreled over the finish mark and wrapped his arms around her. Claudia squealed as he swept her off her feet.

"Put me down," she ordered through a giggle.

Huffing from the run he dropped her to her feet but his arms stayed around her. "You have no reason to be concerned about Stephanie Roberts," he swore.

Turner's arms moved around his waist. "Who said I was worried?"

"Oh...no... of course not."

"You are mine."

"Yeah, I totally am."

Turner grinned and leaned in for a kiss, but just before their lips touched she pulled away so that he fell into the space between them. "What aren't you telling me, Lance?"

"It's embarrassing."

The pink tint to his cheeks had nothing to do with their run and she took pity on him. "It doesn't matter, you know," she promised. "I think I know, anyway."

"You do? How?"

"Federal agent, Lance," she scolded. "I checked her out."

The idea that she had been curious enough to research Roberts made Sweets' chest puff slightly and his arms tightened as he stood straighter. "You did?"

"Booth hints some chick is an issue for my boyfriend? You're damn straight I did some research." Her hands slid around his waist and along the damp cotton of his t-shirt from his stomach to his chest. "You went to the same high school."

"Yeah," Sweets agreed sheepishly.

"She was on the dance team, a class officer and a volleyball player."

"Uh-huh." His agreement was a bit strained as he tried to keep his tone neutral.

"She was an 'it girl', an A-lister, a hottie?"

"Yeah."

"You have a thing for little Miss Hottie, Lance?" Her hands had moved slowly up his body and her arms now draped over his shoulder allowing her to swirl two fingers along the hairline of his neck.

"Not anymore," he admitted. Her touch sent a very pleasurable shiver down his spine and he grinned. "Claude, I'm all sweaty."

"Ooh," she purred. "I love it when you are all sweaty."

The approval in her touch immediately diverted his attention and he growled as his arms tightened around her. "If we skip breakfast we could take an extra-long shower."

"Race ya," she said stepping away from him.

"I'm totally winning this time," he said as he chased her.

B&B

Booth was focused on balancing everything he carried and so was paying very little attention to where he walked as he entered the lab. The shuffle of feet on the tile floor and a soft gasp signaled his peril just before he bumped into someone. The file tucked beneath his arm crashed to the floor, its contents fanning out in haphazard escape. He hissed as the hot contents of the two cups in his right hand sloshed against his skin. The sting of the burn made him drop the bag he carried and reach for the drinks with his left.

"Nice catch," he complimented as he shook his throbbing right hand.

Molly McDaniels smiled but shrugged away the saving catch she had made of his dropped breakfast. "It was the least I could do for causing your accident."

Booth grinned and gave her a low-level but charming smile. "It was my bad. I need to watch were I'm going." He looked down and quickly brushed his reddened fingers over his pant leg. "Damn," he muttered afraid there would be a stain.

"Oh, gosh," Molly worried. "You didn't ruin it did you? That would be a shame. You look really fine."

Booth's head snapped up, his attention diverted from his wet pants. Molly's eyes widened in panic and her face flushed red beneath the spread of freckles that dotted her cheeks. "I meant it looks like fine material," she stammered. "You know, a quality garment."

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at her embarrassment. The girl had no idea how adorable she was. He had taken an immediate liking to her when she entered Brennan's intern program; an affection that had nothing to do with the way she seemed to be infatuated with him. She was cute as a button and he just hoped she would grow out of her shell enough to find someone who could appreciate her. "Thanks," he said giving her a wink. "It is one of my better suits."

She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Booth reached out and gently took the bag away from her. "I know why I'm here so early, Dr. Brennan was up before the sun and these she can't skip breakfast, but why are you in so early?"

"Oh, I volunteered to work with Dr. Brennan so the others could help Dr. Hodgins." She bent and retrieved the paperwork he dropped.

"Thanks. Hodgins is doing his experiment now?"

Molly's red head bobbed in the affirmative and Booth moved toward the platform. "My suit can't risk it," he joked and the intern giggled. With Molly trailing behind he climbed the steps and interrupted Brennan's examination of the current victim. "Time for breakfast, Bones."

"In a minute."

Her answer was not a refusal, it was simply an automated response conditioned to stall the interruption to her work. Booth shoved the bag into Molly's hands and perched the cups on a work station before moving purposefully toward his partner. "Now," he said as he gently guided her away from the body.

"Booth! I'm working."

"And getting cranky," he countered. "That happens lately when you don't eat."

Brennan didn't resist much and he was able to corral her to the steps. He paused long enough to retrieve the food and his report from Molly. "Thanks," he told her with a warm smile. "Want a donut?" He opened the bag and tilted it inviting her to reach inside. "I'll share."

"Donuts?" Brennan complained. "Really, Booth? Empty calories are not appropriate for my nutritional needs nor do they warrant an interruption to my work."

"But you like them," he answered still giving Molly an encouraging smile. She blushed from his attention and reached inside. When Molly had her treat he turned and gathered the drinks. "Relax, Bones," he soothed. "I got you scrambled egg whites, fruit and dry toast for a healthy breakfast. The donuts are just extra because I love you."

"You love donuts."

"One for you and two for me, but I shared mine with Molly so we're even," he argued.

The mention of her intern made Brennan turn and she caught the look of adoration Molly wore as she watched Booth walk away. "Miss McDaniels, please clean the remains on table two and prepare the next body for examination."

"Yes, Dr. Brennan," the intern answered pulling her eyes from the man at her mentor's side and trying desperately to hide her chagrin at being caught looking at him. Molly needed a gurney to transport the bone to be cleaned and she hurried across the room to get one the moment Brennan's back was turned.

"Hey, where'd you get that?" Wendell asked, pointing to her donut as they crossed paths.

"Booth gave it to me," she answered quietly.

Wendell grinned and complained in humor. "The only thing Booth ever gave me was a lecture on my slap shot." Molly's dimples grew deep as she smiled at his teasing and he watched her hurry away. A crash from the other room refocused his attention and he hurried into the smaller lab. "You didn't start without me did you?" he asked as he joined the others.

"No, Opie dropped the delivery apparatus," Hodgins answered.

"It's a boat, Thurston," the intern responded as he held up a remote control motorboat. "And I wouldn't have dropped it if you didn't make me carry all six of them."

"New guy does the grunt work," Arastoo insisted.

"He says that now," Vincent complained. "As I recall when it was his turn he was conveniently committed to prayer."

"I am a pious man," Arastoo answered with a straight face.

"Can we blow stuff up now?" Fischer whined.

"I'm with Fisher," Wendell agreed. "Let's get to it."

The six men scrambled to put their boat into position and then moved behind the Plexiglas shield that separated them from the test. Six shallow tubs of water were lined against the wall each with a scale version of the Delaware Memorial Bridge. They stood shoulder to shoulder eyeing their tub with anticipation.

"Who gets to go first?" Finn asked.

"Really?" Wendell scoffed as Hodgins claimed the right. "Did you really think he was going to let someone else go first?"

"Mine's going to blow up better," Finn mumbled.

"Fire in the hole!"Jack yelled as he used his remote control to guide his boat toward the bridge.

Hodgins had given himself the fastest, most powerful toy boat and he opened the throttle wide sending the tiny vehicle skimming across the water's surface as fast as it would go. When the fiberglass body crashed into the miniature pillar a potent and sizeable explosion erupted from the bowels of the boat. Water sprayed everywhere and the scientists all flinched as they took the brunt of the unanticipated result.

Tiny pieces of plastic had peppered the shield in front of them. The bridge itself was cleaved in two and its supports crumbled to rough pieces. Arastoo surveyed the destruction which was far greater than that inflicted by the actual explosion. "Too much," he assessed professionally as he wiped the water from his face.

"My turn!" Fischer called before anyone else could.

B&B

Booth knocked a second time and then took a step back. They waited but there was still no response making it apparent that there was no one inside. Brennan grew impatient and reached for the door knob but before she could touch it Booth snatched her hand away. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I am opening the door."

"Me first, Bones. It's not a new rule."

"There is no one home!"

"Are you making an assumption, Dr. Brennan?" he challenged. "You don't know that."

Brennan ground her teeth refusing to admit he was right even when she knew he was. "Fine." She stepped back and he moved in front of her. "This is because I'm pregnant, isn't it?" she asked as he opened the unlocked door.

"No, that's always been the rule, Bones." He was very careful to keep his tone light. He was not going to prove her right even though he was feeling tenuous about her in the field and in her present condition. They still had months to go and he knew starting that particular argument now would be a mistake. She wasn't going to acknowledge the changes needed until her body forced her. Moving with soft steps he entered Roger Lair's kitchen. "Clear," he stated out of habit.

"Well of course it is, Booth. I declared the man dead fifteen hours ago."

"Why are you being like this?"

"Like what?"

"Difficult."

Brennan smirked at him and crossed to the door leading to the laundry room. "You like it."

"Just be careful with my kid," he muttered as she disappeared into the adjoining room. The house was deafeningly quiet and every instinct he had told him there was no one else there, but he still searched carefully. The rooms were tidy but appeared unused for quite some time.

"He has been living alone," Brennan said as if she could read his mind.

Booth turned with some surprise. "You sure, Bones?"

"There is only one toothbrush in the master bath. In the small bedroom at the end of the hall there is a flyer advertising a music performance from this past May lying directly in the traffic path. There is a layer of dust on the paper. While the bedrooms still contain personal effects they are not items of necessity. The refrigerator holds only beer, cheese and bologna."

"You could have just said you looked around and you are sure," he joked wearing the slightly proud grin that had been produced by her list of evidence.

"I like to be thorough."

"Gun first and you like details. Did we reboot our partnership to year one?"

Brennan's eyebrow arched and she rubbed a hand over her midsection. "I thought this was year one of the new partnership?"

Booth chuckled with delight. He turned surveying the living room as he spoke his agreement. "First of many, Bones." He stopped when his eyes found something and he crossed the room to a worn and faded recliner.

"What is it?" Brennan asked when he lifted a thick packet of papers from the side table.

"Oh, boy." Booth handed them to her when she reached him. "What's the anthropological significance of occupation and marital status in American males?"

"Paramount," she answered as she scanned the document. "Lair lost both," she summarized. "Fired from his job and," she lifted the papers to signify their nature, "his wife filed for divorce."

"Our boat captain is starting to look like a guy who had nothing to lose."

B&B

Brennan was engrossed in her examination of the remains in front of her when the platform security alarms began to sound, startling her. When she turned, she found a tall, dark-haired woman standing frozen between the second and third steps leading up to the platform, being surrounded by lab security.

"Who do you think you are?" Brennan yelled over the screeching bells. "This is a secure platform; you have no clearance to come up here!" She waved to the guards, gesturing towards the woman as she slid her access card through the reader to halt the alarms. The intruder looked from the guards to Brennan to the crowd gathering around the scene, clearly shocked into silence.

"Well?" Cam asked, striding up the side steps. "Dr. Brennan asked you a question."

"What?" The woman asked, confused. "What was that noise?"

Brennan glanced at Cam, who nodded and took a step back, allowing her colleague to take the lead. Brennan's eyes iced over as she took her opponent in with disdain. "Do you suffer from some sort of comprehension deficiency? Once again…who are you and what do you think you are doing stepping onto my platform?"

Finally shaking herself into action, their uninvited guest took a step forward, obviously intending to shake Brennan's hand. "My name is-"

"Stop!" Brennan growled, hand extended, palm-out. "You are not authorized to be here. Answer my question."

"Uh, I am Stephanie Roberts, with Homeland Security…I just…"

"Yes, you just decided that the rules do not apply to you, and attempted to infiltrate my platform without proper authorization, I understand that." Brennan ignored the soft snort she heard come from Cam and continued to glare at the woman.

After taking a step back to move off the platform, Roberts took a moment to gather her wit and then continued speaking as if Brennan hadn't interrupted her. "I came to pick up the evidence from the bridge collapse for Homeland Security."

Cam scoffed, sharing a glance with Brennan. "And what evidence would that be, Agent Roberts?"

"All of it, of course. Any soil samples, bridge pieces, the victims' personal effects and ID's and any conclusions you've reached to this point." Roberts actually looked pleased with herself, until the two women in front of her began laughing.

Recovering first, Brennan shook her head. "Agent Roberts, I am sure you have already been informed that in this joint investigation, our lab is handling all physical evidence relating to the case. Your superiors as well as DEMA, FEMA and the FBI have all jointly agreed that, due to our unimpeachable reputation for accuracy, success and integrity, the Jeffersonian will continue with the current protocol and report all of our findings to each agency in turn."

Roberts stepped as close to the steps as she dared, fire in her blue eyes as she pointed at the evidence bags she could see from her vantage point. "Dr. Brennan, I don't believe that you are in any way capable of determining who is in charge here and I would appreciate it if you and your friend there would gather together the items I've asked for and hand them over to Homeland Security."

The mirth faded from Cam's face almost immediately as she moved in front of Brennan and sashayed down the platform steps, stopping inches from Agent Roberts, arms crossed tightly across her chest. "Agent Roberts. I'm not sure I understand why you believe you can come into our lab and bully our team, the best forensics team in the country, into doing your bidding when you clearly have no authority to do so. However, I am going to make you a deal, taking into consideration that you are young, and that someday you will surely see the error of your ways."

"I don't need to make a deal with you…I'm sorry, _who_ are you?" Roberts practically sneered.

Cam smiled, a predatory gleam in her eye. "I am Dr. Camille Saroyan. I am in charge of this lab and everything in it. And yes, you do need to make a deal with me, Agent Roberts. Because, quite frankly, you don't have a choice. Nothing…not one piece of evidence, not one body, not one bone, not one report leaves the premises without my authority." She paused to make sure the young agent was listening. "So in the interest of fair play, and in order to make sure that every agency involved is kept in the loop, we will give you copies of all of our findings thus far and we will make sure that Agent Booth updates you on his end of the investigation."

Roberts rolled her eyes in Cam's direction, looking over her shoulder at Brennan who still stood on the forensic platform. "I'm sorry to tell you both, but Homeland Security trumps your little lab here. I only have to call my boss and everything you have will be coming with me. Count on it." She crossed her arms over her chest in a mimic of Cam's stance.

Brennan descended the steps, a small smile gracing her face. "You can attempt to do that, Agent Roberts. But, would you do me a favor? When you speak to your boss, please tell her hello from me."

Roberts shook her head, smiling insincerely. "My boss, Kurt Reuther, is male, Dr. Brennan. You must be mistaken."

"Oh." Brennan managed to look vaguely embarrassed as Cam stifled a smile. "I assumed when you spoke of your boss, you were referring to the Secretary of Homeland Security. As I am quite well acquainted with Janet, I was merely attempting to be friendly and ease some of the obvious tension inflicted by your visit. I thought perhaps if you spoke with her directly, we could work something out that would be beneficial for both parties. I apologize for the assumption."

"I…you…you're friends with Secretary Napolitano?" Roberts sputtered.

Brennan smiled briefly. "We have worked with Homeland Security in several high-profile cases, Agent Roberts. And…Janet is a fan of my novels."

Agent Roberts looked from the guileless face of Brennan to the wide-eyed countenance of Cam and decided to take her fight elsewhere. "Fine. I'm leaving. But rest assured, we will be speaking again." She turned on her heel and stalked off towards the doors.

"Looking forward to it, Agent Roberts!" Brennan called to her retreating form.

Cam gave up trying to hide her mirth and busted out laughing. "Oh, Brennan…that was classic. You scared that poor girl silly."

"Although I find it distasteful to use my connections for an advantage in most cases, I believe this particular situation called for a little…gravitas." She pursed her lips slightly. "And, I didn't care for her at all."

"Amen to that, Brennan." Cam ignored the confused expression on her colleague's face as she turned to head back to her own office. "Oh, if you don't mind, I want to call Booth and tell him about this?"

Brennan nodded as she ascended the stairs. "That would be fine, Cam."

"Yes!" Cam whispered, speeding up her pace just a little. "This will make Seeley's day."

* * *

><p>"You ok?"<p>

Turner nodded as she shut the passenger door to Booth's SUV. "Yeah, these are just getting hard to stomach."

"You did good on that last one, Turner," he praised realizing this kind of mass destruction of human life was new to the rookie.

"Yeah, asking a ten-year old if he remembered anything before his mom fell off the bridge was simple."

"We can't always avoid what seems wrong."

"Right." She nodded curtly. "Just another day."

"No," Booth denied with a soft shake of his head. "These will stick with you and they won't be regular days. But, you learn to move on. You give it its due and then you put it behind you, but it's always there."

"You've seen worse?" Booth's eyes clouded and for a moment she regretted asking the question. But then it passed and his sharp gaze found hers.

"I've seen much worse," he admitted gravely. "But it made me stronger, more ready for the next one. And that's the thing, Turner. There will be a next one and we have to be ready."

"Yes, sir," she answered and her crisp retort held all her respect for the agent she wanted to imitate.

Silently they made their way into the third hospital of the day. Yesterday they had focused on the able bodied survivors and those witnesses who had seen the explosion from the river bank. Today they were forced to ask questions of those who had actually been in harm's way. Every hospital in the area was tending survivors and this one was housing at least two people they needed to speak with.

"What's this?" Turner asked as they stepped out of the elevator and found the sixth floor under guard.

Two men in dark suits and darker glasses stepped forward to confront them. There was little doubt these were federal agents of some sort and Booth had a hunch who they reported to. They had an air of superiority that both FBI agents found insulting and the way they demanded information did little to encourage interagency cooperation.

"Identification, please," the first young officer barked. "This is a restricted area."

"Restricted area?" Turner repeated as she flashed her badge. "Against what? Germs?"

"It's a matter of national security, that's all you need to know."

They had given each FBI badge and ID card a close look but seemed satisfied. "You'll need to surrender your firearms until departure," the second officer ordered.

"You better be prepared to die trying to take it," Booth answered his voice quiet and deadly serious.

The younger man swallowed nervously and took a step back. "We have orders," he said in plaintive explanation.

"I don't care if your orders came from the President, you aren't taking our side arms."

"Is there a problem?"

Booth looked over the shoulders of the young and ineffective officers trying to detain him and rolled his eyes. "I should have known," he grumbled. "What do you think you are doing, Roberts?"

"I'm conducting an investigation, Agent Booth. I'll be happy to share my results just as soon as I have things wrapped up."

"An investigation," Booth repeated. "Into what? There's nothing here but victims."

"You would be wrong about that, Agent Booth," she said with a smirk. "My sources have confirmed that the instigator of yesterday's disaster is lying in a bed just down this hallway."

"Oh really?And what evidence do you have to back that up?"

"I'm not at liberty to share that at this moment, but I assure you that in the interest of this joint operation I will provide you with that information as soon as it is cleared for your level of access."

"His level of access?" Turner objected. "He's an SSA!"

"I see," Booth drawled slowly his eyes locked with Roberts, his cool and disapproving, hers defiant. "You didn't like losing your power play with Dr. Brennan and Dr. Saroyan so you think you can cut me out of whatever angle you are working."

"I'm simply doing my job, Agent Booth. You have your evidence and I have mine. We'll see who the superior unit is."

That actually made Booth laugh and he let it out in a burst of amusement. "Yeah, ok. We'll do that."

"I don't appreciate your attitude, Agent Booth."

"And I don't appreciate your attempt to escalate paranoid and unfounded fears into a scenario that pads your service record." The humor was gone and he leaned forward ignoring the way the guards behind her tensed. "We're on the same team here, Roberts. You might not like the pecking order, but we are looking for the same thing."

"Terrorists," Roberts finished.

"The truth," Booth corrected. "If you can't remember that it might mean you need to go back to school or find another career."

"I have the truth," she snapped. "And when I file my report you'll see I'm right." She drew herself to attention and tried to look intimidating. "I'm going to ask you to leave, Agent Booth. Homeland Security has this facility well in hand. If we need anything further from the FBI I will let you know. Interviews with any current patient on this floor will have to be postponed until access to certain persons is approved by those in my chain of command."

Turner expected Booth to argue but instead he turned on his heel and stepped back into the elevator. Startled, but quick to react she followed him. "Why did you let her win?" she asked as the door slid shut.

"Double check the patient list for this hospital," Booth ordered in lieu of an answer.

"Why, you think she actually has something?"

"No, I think she's jumping at shadows and desperate to prove us wrong. But, let's be sure."

B&B

"Did you have something for me?" Cam asked as she entered Angela's office.

"Well..."

The squeaky answer brought Cam's determined steps to a halt and she crossed her arms over her chest. "That's slightly less certainty that we usually use when discussing evidence."

"That's because I'm not sure it qualifies as evidence."

"I'm confused. I thought you went over the information from the shipping company?"

"I did."

"And?"

Angela sighed. "What I'm about to say you can't repeat to Brennan."

Cam's eyebrow lifted in shock. "Say what?"

"I checked over everything the shipping company was able to supply," Angela stated with what sounded more like her usual expert opinion. "Computer records are thorough, but inconclusive."

"So why do you look like there is more to this story?"

"I have a hunch."

"Oh." Cam now understood why she couldn't repeat this to Dr. Brennan. "Ok, I can go with that. Sometimes it's the hunch that leads you to the facts you need."

With Cam's acceptance Angela visibly relaxed and brought the displayed image of the pre-trip inspection to her monitor. "Lair performed the pre-trip inspection. Doesn't that seem a little odd to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"He was the captain. Shouldn't he have been, I don't know checking the weather or doing something captain-ly? Him doing the safety inspection is like an airline pilot doing the seatbelt demonstration."

"Maybe," Cam agreed bobbing her head in an approximation of agreement.

"It looks even more odd when you consider that every other inspection on file was conducted by the third officer. Not just this boat, but every boat in the company. I checked every log for the past year. Captains never do that job."

"Ok, that makes it feel less like a hunch and more like a suspicion," Cam approved. "Anything else?"

"He lied on the report."

"Probably, but how can you tell?"

Angela pressed another button and a new image appeared on her computer screen. "This is footage from the dock. It shows the boat leaving port two days before the accident." Cam watched the footage noting nothing usual as the tug pulled into the wide river. Angela changed the picture. "Now this is the same thing, but on the morning of the accident."

Cam saw the difference almost immediately. "It's sitting lower in the water."

"Exactly," Angela confirmed. "But the report indicates the hold was empty, just like the day before. It's just not possible. Something added enough weight to make the boat ride low in the water."

"Like the amount of explosives Hodgins found would be necessary for the damage we saw?"

"It's not proof," Angela lamented.

"No, but it's a good piece of the puzzle. We'll just have to keep looking for the missing piece."

B&B

Cam circled the platform on her way to the lounge from Angela's office when she noticed Brennan standing alone next to an exam table. As she passed, she noticed that the remains on the table were very small, which always made her heart clench. Without another thought, Cam changed direction and climbed the steps to the platform, moving decisively to stand next to the anthropologist. She reached over and placed her hand on her friend's tense back, leaning slightly towards her downturned head.

"I would like to tell you that it's simply the hormones. That…the feeling you're having right now, of helplessness, and a loss of control that you've never even come close to feeling before? I would love to tell you that it subsides and you will be able to regain that imperviousness you are so well known for….but I can't do that." She shook her head sadly as Brennan's head jerked up, her eyes wide and watery.

"I-" her throat worked as she struggled to regain her composure. "I need that control to do my job, Cam. How can I do my job if, every time I see a child like this, I think of-"

"Your child. I know." She locked eyes with the woman beside her. "_I know._ It's hard, but believe me it is all worth it. You do this job, and then you go home and you hold that baby and you remember that he or she is the reason we all do this job. For the innocent who can't speak for themselves."

Brennan looked down at the tiny remains and nodded tightly. "Thank you, Cam." She whispered.

"You're welcome, Dr. Brennan." Cam replied as Molly walked onto the platform. "Please let me know if there is anything you need."

Walking away, she overheard the young intern ask Brennan if there was anything she could do for her. With a sad smile, she heard the negative reply, and the evidence of the customary steel already returning to Brennan's voice.

* * *

><p>Booth felt his stomach growl and glanced at the time. It wasn't as late as he thought but he vowed to call it quits soon. If he was already getting hungry Brennan probably was too. A smile lightened his worried face as thoughts of his partner chased away the worrisome details of this case. It was much easier to get her to eat these days and he really enjoyed the way she would allow him to take care of her. Not completely, of course, but she was learning to accept that sometimes she should accept his little offers. Tonight he was going to offer to make that cauliflower soup she liked while she took a bath and relaxed. She hadn't said much about her reaction to this case, but he knew her well enough to know she was struggling some. They all were.<p>

A knock at his door pulled his attention from his thoughts. "Yeah, Samson?" he asked gesturing for the agent at the door to enter.

"Booth, there's a woman here claiming to have information on the bridge disaster."

He was immediately on his feet and rounding his desk. "Anyone get a statement?" he demanded.

"No, we figured you would want to do it."

"You figured right."

Agent Samson provided the location of his new witness and Booth hurried to the interrogation room. Booth was an expert at reading people. As much as Sweets relied on his fancy degrees and training to understand the signals people revealed, Booth relied on his gut. And as he opened the door his gut told him his surprise witness was the one he had been looking for. "Mrs. Lair?" he asked as he gently shut the door behind him. "I'm Special Agent Booth, I'm coordinating the FBI's response to the Delaware Bridge incident. I'm told you have something for me?"

"It's nice to meet you, Agent Booth," she responded as he took the seat opposite her. She looked incredibly uncomfortable and she fidgeted in her seat as if unable to proceed.

"Could I ask you a few routine questions?" Booth offered. "That way we can warm up to whatever you need to tell me."

Her shoulders lowered slightly either with relief or resignation and she nodded.

"You are Karen Lair, wife of Roger Lair?"

"Yes." She blinked back tears.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Booth's sincere words breached her control and her tears fell. "I'm not sure I deserve that," she said wiping her eyes with a tissue. "We were separated."

Booth nodded. "I saw the papers. That doesn't mean this isn't a loss." She took a deep breath and he continued when she looked more in control. "Mrs. Lair, were you aware of any hostility or destructive impulses your husband might be having?"

She shook her head. "No. I left Roger six months ago. We hit a rough patch that we just couldn't seem to get past and after a few years I decided it wasn't worth trying anymore."

"What kind of rough patch?"

"Family problems, money problems, marital problems; we pretty much had them all." She twisted her tissue in her hand and began to explain. "Roger lost his parents two years ago. It was a shock, despite their age, and he struggled with it. Before he could come to terms with it I lost my job. That put us in a financial hardship and things grew strained. He wouldn't talk to me about his loss. He wouldn't talk to me about our financial problems. We started to argue all the time. He grew depressed and withdrawn and the more I tried the more he pushed me away. Finally, I had enough and I packed up the kids and we moved down to Asheville. My sister is there and her husband was able to get me on with his company."

Having her open up with him was the signal Booth needed and he pressed for more. "Mrs. Lair, what information can you give me about your husband's involvement in the Delaware Bridge explosion?"

The tearful woman sighed as she slid an envelope across the table. "This came in the mail yesterday," she stated as Booth picked it up. "He did it. Roger blew up the bridge."

Booth scanned the letter feeling the satisfaction of finding the truth and cold horror for the pain the words contained. Roger Lair had been despondent. He had lost his parents, his wife, his family, his financial security and then finally his job. He had felt as if he had nothing to live for. And with the desperation only felt by those who think there is no reason to go on, he had made one final act to mark his life.

The letter was full of self-hate, hopelessness and anger. Lair took the blame for the failed marriage firmly on his own shoulders. He went to great lengths to demonstrate how he had pushed his wife away and made their split inevitable. But his absolution of her seemed to rob him of forgiveness for the rest of humanity. In several long paragraphs he rambled about all the ways his life was ruined and how unfair he found his losses. The entire confession was troubling, but it was the final paragraph that sent chills down Booth's spine.

"_I work the river, chugging along, and watch those cars traveling above me. Classy, sleek machines, filled with happy people who have no idea how good they have it. They drive back and forth up there without a care in the world, all happy and satisfied. It's not fair! I was supposed to be happy! That was supposed to be me. Why should they have it instead of me?"_

Booth cleared his throat trying to gain control over his horrified reaction. Lair had packed his boat with explosives and slammed it into the bridge killing innocent people because he thought the world owed him more than he got. It was senseless. It was crazy. It made him want to put his arms around his family and never let go.

"Thank you for bringing this in," he said to the woman seated with him. "It's what we needed."

"I'm sorry I didn't stop him," she admitted with new tears in her eyes. "I swear I didn't know. I would have stayed. I could have stopped him. I didn't know...he could be so...evil." She shuddered at the word.

"No ma'am," Booth responded. "This was an act of desperation. A man like your husband isn't evil, he's just lost."

B&B

The team stood off to the side of the large conference room, talking quietly amongst themselves. The final case debriefing, as well as a lengthy speech from both Secretary Napolitano and Director Mueller praising Booth and the team, had broken up a few moments prior. While the directors of each agency had departed rather quickly, Booth and Brennan and the rest of the squints had decided to stay a few more minutes to enjoy the complimentary coffee and pastries and make plans to meet up later that night for their traditional post-case drinks.

"Booth, if you eat another bear claw I will be forced to make you eat nothing but vegetables for the next week to counteract the degenerative effects of your poor diet when I am not around." Brennan huffed, pulling the frosting-laden treat from his hands and handing it to Sweets.

"Hey, what are you giving it to him for? Don't you care about Sweets' health?" Booth reached half-heartedly for the donut the younger man held back from him, frowning.

Brennan shook her head. "That is Claudia's job, not mine." She smiled as Turner grabbed the snack out of Sweets' hands and took a bite herself.

"Good for you, Turner." Booth laughed as Sweets pouted.

"Um…Agent Booth?" A tentative voice from behind the group broke the mood. Angela, Cam, Turner and Brennan all moved to stand behind Booth protectively while the other men chuckled.

Booth crossed his arms and stared the woman in front of him in the eye. "Yes, Agent Roberts?"

Roberts sighed, stuffing her hands into her pockets, refusing to look any of them in the eye. "I wanted to congratulate you and your team on a successful resolution to the case."

"Thank you." He watched as she peeked uncomfortably at Brennan and Cam, then down again. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes, I…" Roberts finally looked up, taking in the team with a sweeping glance. "I wanted to apologize for my behavior during the investigation, and assure you that the Department of Homeland Security is not in the business of making unfounded assumptions based on little to no evidence."

"Wow, Roberts…did you rehearse that all morning long?" Booth shook his head at the total insincerity in the other agent's apology. "Honestly, if that's the best you can do for the complete and utter disrespect you showed me, Dr. Brennan, Dr. Saroyan and our team here, I think we're done." He turned back to the team, unconcerned at Roberts' scowl.

Her voice dripping with sarcasm, Roberts stepped into Booth's side. "Well, I will admit that my boss insisted I apologize…and since, truly, I don't believe I had anything to be sorry about, then you're right, Agent Booth. That is the best I can do." Smug, she stood back again, looking derisively at the group in front of her.

"Wow." Sweets breathed. "It's true what they say about the mean girls in high school. They grow up to be insufferable adults, too."

Smiling with no mirth, Roberts rounded on her former classmate. "You're still sad that I wouldn't give you the time of day, Lance? Because, I have to be honest…" She looked him up and down predatorily. "You've done well for yourself since high school…you might have a chance now."

Laughing with genuine amusement, Sweets wrapped his arm around Turner's shoulder, dropping a kiss to her temple. "Definitely not interested, Agent Roberts. I am doing so much better than I ever could have done back then and believe me…you are far from capable of changing that situation."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Roberts struggled to maintain her composure as she collected her bag from the floor and started to turn away. "Fine, but you don't know what you're missing. Goodbye, Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan. It's been…interesting."

"Have a nice life, Agent Roberts." Booth waved sarcastically at her retreating backside.

Brennan, Angela and Cam laughed as Claudia waved slowly, smiling widely. "Buh bye, Steffie!"

"Alright, alright…enough of this high school crap. Who's hungry?" Booth clapped his hands together excitedly. "Anyone up for some real breakfast?"

Brennan nodded. "I could eat."

"Then by all means, let's get this baby fed! Chop chop, everyone!" Booth began leading Brennan out of the room, Sweets and Turner trailing immediately after.

"I don't know why I thought that when Booth and Brennan got together that anything would change." Cam smiled. "But they're still just the same as they ever were."

"Yeah, except for that whole 'expecting a little Boothling' thing." Hodgins grinned.

"Still trying to wrap my head around that one." Cam agreed.

Angela linked her arm through her husband's as well as her boss's and pulled them to join the rest of the group. "It's not strange at all; it's the natural order of things. Now come on, I'm starving."

* * *

><p>"You should have seen that little speedboat explode, Ange," Jack said through a chuckle. He was shaking his head at the memory, a huge grin on his face and his eyes bright. "It was spectacular. None of the interns had that kind of power in theirs."<p>

"I'm sure," Angela agreed without looking up from her reading.

Jack forked another bite of chicken into his mouth and then reached for his wine glass. "I love a good experiment," he noted for no particular reason. He sipped his drink as he again replayed the test in his mind. "I think I could have gotten a more spectacular result if I loaded more of the payload in the nose." He set his glass down and reached for the bottle to pour a refill. "I'll have to remember that if I do something similar in the future."

"You want more?" he offered holding the bottle out toward her glass.

"I heard the explosion all the way in my office."

Jack laughed and set the bottle down. "Ok, I can take a hint. The wife has stopped listening to me. Time to find a new topic of dinner conversation."

The slight injury in his tone lifted Angela's attention from her reading. "I'm sorry, Babe. What were you saying?"

Jack shook his head and leaned on his elbows. "Nothing. I'm probably repeating myself. I don't know if you've noticed it before, but I like to over analyze my experiments."

Angela smiled. "It's fairly cute when you do that."

"What are you reading?" he asked trying to make up for his self-absorption through this entire meal.

Angela seemed to take a moment to reflect on her answer. Reaching a definitive conclusion she picked up the material she was reading for at least the twelfth time and laid it on the table in front of him. "I'm ready."

Jack recognized the literature and took her hand in his. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely," she swore and it was clear she meant it. "I want to adopt. We have a good life Jack. But the horrible reality of this last case is that good or bad it can end in an instant. I don't want to wait any more."

"Ok," he agreed picking up the sheet of information he needed from the pile on the table. "I'll make a call tomorrow and get the ball rolling."

"There's a lot of paperwork, background checks, interviews..." Angela warned.

"Hey, I can do good in those."

Angela leaned toward him and he met her half way. "You will do great," she agreed. They kissed once, softly and parted with happy smiles. "We won't ever have the same life again."

"That's ok," he teased. "I'm good with any life as long as it's with you."

B&B

Booth shucked his shirt and tossed it in the general direction of the laundry basket, ignoring the slight scowl from Brennan as he headed to the en suite to finish his bedtime routine. After he was done, he flipped off the light and grabbed his errant shirt, placing it in the basket on the way to the bed. He pretended not to see Brennan's triumphant smile as he settled in, pulling an extra pillow under his head as he turned to watch her power down her laptop and get comfortable as well.

"You okay there, Bones?"

Brennan felt that initial uneasiness she always experienced when Booth was able to tell how she was feeling without her having said a word, but that was quickly replaced with the warmth of having someone who knew her so well.

"I'm better now, but earlier…when I was examining a young victim…"

Booth nodded sympathetically. "I can imagine. It must have been hard for you, Bones."

"Yes, but then Cam spoke with me and put things in perspective and although it wasn't any easier, I was able to compartmentalize enough to complete the examination." Her hand absently picked at the blanket. "I believe that, from this point forward, I will be able to better navigate the intense feelings a situation such as this will bring to the fore."

Booth smiled gently. "I have no doubt in the world that you will, Bones." He pulled her closer. "Remember what they said in that Discovery Channel show about the team?" He looked up, clearly quoting the voice-over narrator from the documentary that had aired a few months previous, _"Dr. Temperance Brennan has discovered truth in the unsolvable mystery, justice in the coldest case, and closure for families that, without her unique expertise, would have never found the answers that they were seeking."_

Brennan stared at Booth, wide-eyed. "I can't believe you remember that, word for word!"

He gave her a charming, completely sincere grin. "When it concerns you, I always remember."

"Although that sounds like a line…" She raised an amused eyebrow in his direction. "I am inclined to believe you." She leaned over and gave him a grateful kiss. "Thank you, Booth."

"Anytime, Bones." He sighed against her lips, smiling as he pulled back. "Now, are you ready for my confession?"

Resisting the urge to clap in excitement, Brennan nodded. Their shared, daily revelations had quickly become her favorite part of the day. "Please."

"Alright. I thought about this earlier, what with the thing with Sweets and Turner, and Agent Roberts…" Booth settled back again, pulling her along with him so that they both reclined against the headboard, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. "When I was about 14, I had a strange movie star crush. Well, strange for a 14 year old boy back then, anyway." He glanced down at Brennan's upturned face. "Now, this might have had something to do with Pops, and his influence, but…" He cleared his throat nervously. "I had the biggest thing for Katharine Hepburn."

"Really?" Brennan laughed. "I love her!" She closed her eyes, thinking. "Nature, Mr. Allnut, is what we are put in this world to rise above." Opening her eyes, she looked to Booth expectantly.

"_African Queen_, right?" Booth asked, glad Brennan had chosen not to find it strange that he had found a woman almost 70 years older than he attractive. "That's a great flick. Humphrey Bogart…can't go wrong with that."

"No, you can't." She smiled again. "What was it about Hepburn that you found irresistible?"

"Quite a bit, to be honest. I mean, I liked that she was her own person, that she was brave enough and self-assured enough to speak her mind…she seemed like she didn't take guff from anyone, and even though back then I couldn't have identified that quality, now I realize that I find that incredibly attractive." He grinned. "I don't know, I just thought she was hot."

Brennan nodded. "It's not unusual for an alpha male to seek a mate that will challenge him. You are a classic alpha in that respect; the women in your life are almost always alphas themselves. So your attraction to Katherine Hepburn makes perfect sense." She looked up at Booth, thoughtfully. "You know, I had an odd crush myself, back when I was about 9 or 10."

"Really now…" Booth sat up higher, intrigued. "Who?"

"Do you remember that show about the stunt man? He also pursued fugitives in his free time?"

Booth thought for a moment. "You mean 'The Fall Guy'? You had a thing for Lee Majors? That's not odd, Bones…he was a good-looking guy. And he isn't all that much older than you."

Brennan blushed, something Booth found extremely attractive, especially since it didn't happen all that often. "No, it's not Lee Majors, the actor, that I was 'crushing on', as you say." She looked down again and continued to pluck at the blanket. "It was…you know, the character. Colt Seavers."

"Ohh." Booth smiled in understanding. "Bones, there's nothing odd about that either. People get crushes on television and movie characters all the time." She leaned up and kissed him.

"Thanks, Booth." Brennan grinned. "You know, I really like this tradition we have, sharing our secrets."

"Me too, Bones."

"I've never…" She absently rubbed her slightly rounded stomach. "I've never wanted someone to know me as well as you know me, and…it makes me nervous sometimes." Booth smothered a grin at her earnest gaze. "But, because it's you…and we're building this life together, I find it more comforting than scary, now."

Touched more than he could express, Booth bent forward and placed a soft kiss to her belly, ignoring her chuckle. "Hello, baby." He whispered. "Your mom is a very, very brave woman. Even when she thinks she isn't."

Brennan's breath caught in her throat, but she managed to find her voice. "I do love you, Booth."

"I know, Bones." He pulled her closer, nuzzling her ear. "I love you, too.

* * *

><p><strong><em>When a member of the team vanishes without a trace, the rest of the team is rocked by the reality that there's nothing they can do and that they may never see the missing ever again. Join us next week for 7.5x02: How I Wonder What You Are by Brainysmrfs<em>**


	2. How I Wonder What You Are

7.5x02: How I Wonder What You Are ~ Written by Brainysmrfs, NatesMama & Squinttoyou

To any passerby, they looked like any young couple in love heading home from a late dinner, her head was resting on his shoulder and their arms were linked together. But as they moved down the darkened street of the nation's capital, they had something much more nefarious than getting home on their minds. This couple had a plan and tonight was the night they set it in motion.

They had practiced it several times, certain they had it down to a science. The sidewalk was slick with the still-falling, evening rain and people were huddled underneath hoods, umbrellas and soaked-through newspapers. With their target spotted, she dropped her partner's arm and quickened her pace as he slowed his. He felt a surge of adrenaline pulse through his veins when he saw the reflection of the streetlight in her custom-made, paisley, printed leather boots as she approached the man carrying the blue and orange umbrella. Yes, this was the moment they had been practicing for.

Her hand first casually brushed against the target's arm but then she wrapped lithe fingers around it and applied pressure while she used her other hand to remove a syringe from her trench coat pocket. Without hesitation, she quickly jabbed the needle into his arm with enough force to pierce the three layers of clothes she was certain he wore. Without looking over at the man she had just injected, the woman in the distinctive leather boots quickened her pace once again and made her way to the mini-van she had parked just a short half a block away.

This was when her partner stepped into action. He watched as the target stood still, stunned and then began to sway. Before the injected elixir had the chance to render the man much smaller than himself completely unconscious, the partner wrapped one arm around the other man's waist and began to guide him toward the van he knew would be waiting. At first, the target struggled against the tight grip with which he was being held and then tried to yell but it came out as mumbled gibberish. If anyone took notice of the two men on the street, it simply appeared that the friends were staggering home after being over-served in any one of the numerous local bars. As they reached the van, the side door slid open and the larger man heaved the now unconscious target inside and followed him in, closing the door behind him.

The entire operation took less than five minutes and, as law enforcement would find early the next morning, left behind no evidence and not a single forthcoming witness in its wake.

B&B

Booth rolled over settling back into his pillow with the sigh of a body not yet ready to wake. The morning light was just bright enough to let him know the night was soon ending and it filtered in from behind the curtains. He threw one arm over his head in an effort to block it and in the hopes that sleep would return. He had thought his movement was only a natural shift in his sleep, but a soft sound from a few feet away let him know that wasn't the case. Suddenly fully awake he opened his eyes and smiled.

As he had been certain she would be, Brennan was standing a few feet from their bed. She moved slowly, obviously trying not to wake him given the early hour and his late night, as she spread a mat on the floor. She wore a pair of blue yoga pants that hugged her hips and a tank top that revealed just a little too much cleavage now that her body was responding to her pregnancy. He was absolutely certain she wore nothing underneath her workout clothes, and she looked absolutely gorgeous. Thoughts of going back to sleep disappeared as he watched her take the first position and Booth very much enjoyed his new line of thinking.

"You know, Bones," he said, his voice holding only a hint of the sleep he was missing. "I was sleeping."

Her head was down but she managed to meet his eye by looking at him through her legs. "I'm sorry, Booth. I was attempting to be quiet."

"S'ok," he forgave her and rolled to his back so he had a better view. She moved slowly from her spread leg stance to a new pose, her expression serious as she focused on the movement. It was all too much for him and Booth decided to interrupt. "You act like you take that awfully seriously, but I'm not so sure," he said playfully.

Brennan did not break her pose or look at him as she responded. "I take it very seriously. The enhanced muscle tone and core strength will be beneficial during childbirth."

"Yeah, but you aren't due for another seven months. That's plenty of time to get in shape."

"I'm already in shape," Brennan argued as she shifted to another position. "This targets specific muscles and I prefer to be ready well before I might need them."

Booth's mouth actually watered as she moved. The new position was very interesting. "And it would be more logical to do that out in the living room, you know. There is more room and no one is trying to sleep in there."

"I prefer this room."

The way she said it put a smile on his face. He was going to have a very good morning in about one minute. "Why is that?"

Brennan pretended to exert herself and grunted to show a vocal answer was not possible.

"Bones?" he said after patiently waiting for her to move. "Why do you prefer this room?" She didn't answer, but a quick smile lifted her mouth before she could hide it. "Uh, huh," he smirked. "You do that in here for my benefit, don't you? Admit it Bones, you want me to watch."

"I am not shy," she answered again without looking at him. "I have no objection to you watching."

It wasn't what she said, but how she said it that made Booth chuckle. He rolled from bed as he laughed and with two steps was close enough to wrap his arms around her.

"Booth! I'm exercising!"

He ignored her and scooped her off her feet. "Admit it," he demanded as he carried her to bed.

"You interrupted my session. I will gain no benefit from that," she complained as he laid her on her back.

He crawled over her as he argued. "You wanted to be interrupted."

This time she didn't try to hide her smile. Her grin was coy and her eyes sparkled with pleasure at the way this was going. "Why would I want that?" she asked as her hands slid over his bare chest.

"Maybe for this?" he asked as his lips brushed the top of one barely-contained breast.

"That is a pleasant sensation."

"So is this," he promised before moving his kiss to her second breast.

"Equally pleasant," she agreed.

Booth pushed her tank top up and eagerly curled his hand around the warm flesh that spilled free. His thumb brushed over her nipple making it harden. His lips closed around the pink nub and he swirled his tongue before applying suction. Brennan's back arched toward him and her fingers curled in his hair. The tiny moan she allowed to escape let him know she enjoyed his attention. "Say it, Bones," he demanded as he shifted to repeat his action on the mate.

Her voice was thick with need but she stubbornly clung to her charade. "Say what?" She gasped as his legs forced hers slightly apart and he settled against her, his hardness seeking out her warmth. "Oh that," she joked. "I see my yoga had the desired effect."

"Every damn time," he promised as his mouth dropped to hers.

She kissed him back as her fingers pulled at his sleep pants and her hands followed over his muscled ass. He moved to help and she pushed the loose cotton down his legs. "We are wearing too many clothes," she complained as her tank was pulled over her head. "Maybe I should switch to nude yoga."

"You do and you will never finish a workout." His nimble fingers made quick work of rolling her pants down to her ankles and she carelessly flung them off the bed. He looked her over, realizingthat he had her exactly where he wanted her, completely naked in the bed they shared.

Brennan's head jerked up from where she had been peppering his neck with kisses, "Did you hear something?"

His movements stilled for a brief moment, "Nah, it was probably just the wind." He gently wrapped his arms around her waist and flipped her over so that the length of his body covered hers. She turned her head to give the front door one last listen.

"Booth, someone is at the door."

Booth groaned, "Is this one of those times where if I don't got check the door, you're going to be obsessed with it and neither of us is really going to enjoy ourselves?"

She shrugged with a mixture of innocence and determination, "Possibly…"

He rolled off the bed and pulled on his previously discarded pajama pants. When he reached the doorway, he turned back toward Brennan, "Promise me you'll stay right there, ok?"

She nodded once with a coy smile and pulled the light sheet over her body to shield herself from the early morning chill.

As he shuffled through the house, Booth grumbled a few incomprehensible curse words and then pulled the door open with a frustrated groan, "I just left you four hours ago, did you miss me that much, Turner?"

* * *

><p>"Lance is missing." Turner spoke in that hushed monotone people often use when they are still in shock.<p>

"What do you mean?" He asked as he opened the door wider for her to enter the house.

"I mean that…he's missing!" She frantically ran her hands through her hair, resisting the urge to pull the strands in frustration, "When I got home last night, he wasn't there and his cell is going right to voice mail, no one has seen him at the office…and…he's not at the diner, hadn't been there at all according to the waitress but his car is parked a couple blocks away from it…" She trailed off, nearly breathless from her frenzied verbal onslaught.

"Ok, calm down. Let's think this through." Booth urged the younger agent in a soothing tone. He thought through everything Turner had listed for a moment and then asked, "What about that music store he's always talking about?"

"Bobby Jean's?" Turner shook her head, "I went by there and none of the guys have seen him, they said he hasn't been by in weeks to play with them. It was 2 o'clock in the morning when I got home, where the hell would he be?"

"I wish I knew." In the nearly five years that Booth had worked with Sweets, he'd never known him to disappear and now he found himself silently cursing himself for so often wishing that he would.

"I've done everything I can on my own and now…now, I don't know what to do." She inhaled deeply as she leveled her eyes on her supervisor, "So…so, I'm here." She pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stave off the tears she could feel coming. "They wouldn't let me in his office, I don't have the proper 'clearance' and I thought that maybe…I mean, could you possibly?"

Booth nodded, "Yeah, wait here and I'll get dressed."

"Claudia?" Brennan called out as she entered the living room, wrapping her robe around her newly-growing belly. She looked at Booth, "Is everything ok?"

"I need to go back to the office." Booth explained quietly as he stopped to gently kiss Brennan on the temple as he passed her on his way to the bedroom.

Brennan looked at Turner, "What happened?"

"I can't find Lance. I have been looking for him for the last four hours and I've come up dry. Booth is going to go back to work with me so I can look around Lance's office."

"That's not like Sweets at all." Brennan thought aloud.

"I know..." Turner took a hairband off her wrist, pulled her hair into a ponytail and wiped her face, trying to regain her composure. "I'm sure he's doing something he forgot to tell me about or he just lost track of time or something like that, you know?"

Knowing Sweets as she did, Brennan's stomach began to churn because for all the words she could use to describe Lance Sweets, 'forgetful' was not one of them.

Booth came back into the room, pulling on his leather jacket, "Ready, Turner?"

"I want to come too. It'll only take me a minute to get dressed."

"Temperance, you don't have to…" Turner trailed off.

Brennan turned and offered the other woman a faint smile, "Yes, I do."

B&B

Once at the Hoover, Booth quickly made his way to the office manager's cubicle to get the key for Sweets' office. After a little explaining and a little sweet-talking, which amused Brennan to no end, Celia gave him the key, making him promise to return it as soon as possible.

"I'll never understand why that works on so many women." Brennan mused under her breath as they made their way to Sweets' office.

"Why what works?"

Brennan raised one shoulder and rolled her eyes, "You have this way of getting what you want from most women by tilting your head, smiling and saying something cliché and usually slightly sexist."

"It's called flirting and it makes the world go round, Bones."

As they reached Sweets' office, they all stopped and stared at the door for a few moments. When Booth went to slide the key in the lock, Turner closed her eyes tightly and sighed, "I am going to feel so stupid if he's asleep on his couch."

Booth slowly pushed the door open and then turned to face the women, "Just in case, treat this as you would any other scene, ok?" He stopped himself from saying 'crime scene', trying to make it easier for Claudia.

"Right." Turner nodded as she pushed up her sleeves and internally lectured herself, Treat this like a normal case, Turner. It's not Lance, it's someone you've never met, someone you've never kissed, someone you've never spent an entire Sunday with just reading The Times and making five-alarm chili, it's not the person you thought was your forever… She forced her train of thought to come to a halt as she ran a trembling hand across her mouth and clung to her very last thread of composure as she followed the partners into the office. Using her elbow, she flipped on the light switch. "Nothing looks out of place…"

Brennan went to his desk, "His computer is turned off and it doesn't appear that he left here in a hurry."

"No, no it doesn't." Booth exhaled and shoved his hands in his pockets. All of Sweets' folders and books were as organized as they had ever been, the cushions on the sofa didn't look disturbed and even his chair was pushed neatly under the desk.

"I assume Sweets keeps an appointment book?" Brennan turned and asked Claudia.

"He does but it's on his phone, his whole life is on that thing."

"When was the last time you spoke with him, Claudia?"

"It was just before we saw the suspect go into the restaurant so," She looked to Booth, "that was about 7pm, right?"

He nodded, "Just about."

"And you didn't realize he was missing until 2am?" Brennan confirmed more than asked. "That's a seven hour period, any number of things could occur during that time."

Claudia bit her lip, "I was working, on a case…There are plenty of times when we go longer than that without speaking, it's not unusual." Her heart began to race and her speech became rapid and loud, "We're busy people. You," she pointed at Brennan and then Booth, "both of you know what it's like, right?"

"Turner, come on now." Booth stepped toward her with hands reaching out, "Bones was just thinking out loud, no one is blaming you for this – Sweets is a big boy, you are not his babysitter, ok?"

"I know I just…" she paused and looked at her boss with eyes full of fear; it was a look that he was certain he had never seen from her before.

Booth laid a hand on her shoulder, "I know, it's ok."

"Claudia, have you called his friends?" Brennan asked as she flipped through folders on the desk.

Turner swallowed hard and nodded, "I called the ones that he's close to, that he sees on a regular basis – no one's seen or heard from him."

"Did you call the tech guys and get the last activity on his phone?" Booth asked as he reached into his pocket.

"I did but… being a rookie doesn't lend itself to being able to get that type of info without a case attached to it."

Booth nodded as he dialed a number on his phone, "Uh, yes this is SSA Booth, I need a trace on Dr. Lance Sweets' cell… Yeah, last activity and location…. Thanks." He hung up and sighed, "They'll send the info to my phone as soon as they have it."

"Thanks, boss." Turner reached up and tightened her ponytail before asking, "Now what?"

B&B

"Seeley Booth, this had better be good, you're pulling me away from a damn fine breakfast." Caroline Julian stomped into Booth's office and stood, hands on generous hips, glaring at the agent across the desk.

Booth stood and came around to gesture the prosecutor to a chair, ignoring her indignant huff but not missing the worried look that crossed her face for a brief moment. "Sit, Caroline. Please."

"I don't know who you think you are, bossing me…" She trailed off when she finally took in Booth's tired, worried eyes, unkempt hair and unshaven face. "Don't tell me that partner of yours is in some kind of trouble again? Because you might have all the time in the world to be saving her genius behind every damn minute, but I'm-"

"Caroline!" Booth cut off her inevitable rant, and then sighed quietly when she glared at his interruption, causing her gaze to soften immediately. "Listen, alright?" At her uneasy nod, he continued. "Sweets is missing. Since at least midnight, probably long before that. Turner got home about 2 AM and he hadn't been there all night. We checked all his usual haunts, and nothing came up. His phone was turned off just around midnight and his car was found parked near the diner."

Closing her eyes briefly, Caroline shook her head. "What is it with you people, not being able to keep track of your own?" Ignoring Booth's plaintive look, she continued. "I don't know what you need from me, Cherie, because you know damn good and well that boy isn't quote unquote "missing" for another 36 hours. It don't matter that his five o'clock shadow doesn't show up on his baby face for a week, he is still considered an adult in the eyes of the law. Maybe he wised up and got as far away from you crazy people as he could."

"Caroline…"

"And don't go giving me those puppy dog eyes, either. Just tell me what you expect me to do so I can say no and go back to my beignets. "

Booth nodded and grabbed a folder from his desk. "We need a warrant to take a look at Sweets' credit card and bank history, see if he's tapped the ATM or used his Visa anywhere. At this point, I'm grasping at straws, Caroline."

"Clearly, if you think a judge is going to grant a warrant with what you've got here, you're even crazier than I thought, Booth. You and I both know that-"

"This isn't a joke, Caroline. You know me." He leaned forward, the folder he was holding becoming twisted in his tight grip. "I don't waste your time, Caroline. I never have. Something happened to Sweets, I know it. My gut is screaming right now, the clock is ticking, and I honestly don't have time to beg you. So, I'm asking…as a friend. Can you get me a warrant to look at Sweets' credit cards? Please?"

Caroline sat in shocked silence for several moments. She had known Seeley Booth for close to sixteen years, and in that time he had only ever asked her for a personal favor one other time…and this particular favor wouldn't even require her to do anything but call in a small marker of her own, let alone force her to get on a plane to New Orleans again. With an internal sigh, she relented.

"Alright." She stifled a smile at Booth's relieved look. "I know a judge who might be willing to let us take a peek at the kid's financials, but-" She held up a finger and shook it menacingly. "You will owe me, Seeley Booth. Big time."

Standing with the diminutive lawyer, Booth resisted the urge to hug her. "Thank you, Caroline. I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it." She moved to leave the office and start making phone calls. At the last minute, she turned and regarded Booth seriously. "Just find your shrink, alright?"

* * *

><p>There was a nervous undercurrent in the room and each of the sharp-minded group he called 'squints' watched Booth with growing dread. He leaned against the wall, deep in thought and the slight tick they could see at his jaw filled them with apprehension. They were his team as much as they were Brennan's and the uncharacteristic tension they saw in him had them all on alert. It was Angela, unsurprisingly, who put an end to the wait.<p>

"Booth, if you don't tell us why we are sitting in a Hoover conference room I'm going to shift into crazy-Angela mode and we all know how unpleasant that can be."

"Yeah, it's a little early for that," Wendell joked, making Hodgins flash a grin of agreement while Angela lifted an eyebrow in warning. He ignored them both and continued, speaking to the brooding agent. "What's up, Booth?"

Booth shoved his hands in his pocket searching for his poker chip in an effort to calm himself. "Sweets has disappeared. No one has seen him since early last night."

There was a collective gasp from the team and then five voices began to demand more explanation. As Brennan began to speak they all fell to immediate silence.

"We are uncertain what happened, but it appears evident from what scant evidence we have, that Dr. Sweets is in peril."

"What evidence?" Cam asked hoping to turn the team toward their best method of processing information.

Booth finally pushed his big body off the wall, angry. "We know Turner last talked to him around seven o'clock last night. She and I were on a stakeout and he checked in with her while we waited." He took the empty seat next to Brennan and rested his arm on her chair. He didn't touch her, but the nearness seemed to provide the peace his poker chip had not. "We finished up and Turner got home around two AM. Sweets wasn't there."

"How is Claudia?" Angela immediately asked.

"Worried but working the case," Brennan answered and there was understanding in her voice. "She is currently placing phone calls to a few friends she had not previously contacted."

"Did she check the music store?" Hodgins interrupted. "Sweets can spend all night there."

"Yeah, she talked to the guy that owns the place. Sweets hadn't been there in weeks." Booth's voice still held the tension his body was trying to lose and he took a deep breath.

Brennan picked up the narrative. "Cell phone records indicate Sweets' phone was turned off at 11:52 and at the time was within a five mile radius of the Hoover."

"Any chance he is still here?" Molly asked, her question a surprise given her usual quiet nature. When the others turned their attention to her she blushed. "I accidentally locked myself in my dad's office building once," she admitted. "I got turned around and ended up in an unfamiliar hallway. The door automatically locked behind me and I didn't have a way to call for help. I was in there for hours before they found me."

"That's not possible," Booth said shaking his head. "There is no sign of a struggle or hurried exit in his office or his car and security footage shows him leaving by the main entrance at 9:30 last night."

"Car?" Cam questioned hopefully since he brought it up.

"Parked on Franklin Street, about three blocks from the diner," Booth answered.

"And no sign of him at the diner, I assume?"

"Come on Cam, that would be too easy."

There was a moment of silence as they each considered a possibly overlooked avenue of investigation. "What about a financial trail?" Hodgins asked.

"There has been no activity with his bank account since Thursday and no unusual transactions in the last six months."

"That's good intel given the timing," Cam noted. "Does Turner have access?"

"I called in a favor," Booth explained succinctly.

"So what do we do?" Angela asked.

"We do what we do best, our jobs." Brennan answered with more surety than she felt. "There is evidence; we excel at discerning truth from little available information. We will find him."

Again, there was a pause but before it could stretch to a doubtful silence, Cam spoke. "Then we need to get to work." She stood prompting the others to do the same. "Wendell, you go with Hodgins and help him search Sweets' car. Struggle or not there is always a good chance we'll find something. Angela, you and I can take a look at those records Booth was able to get hold of."

"Miss McDaniels," Brennan called across the table to her newest intern. "Please provide Dr. Saroyan with any assistance she might need. Booth and I intend to blanket the area between Sweets' car and the diner in hopes of locating a witness."

Molly nodded eager to show her willingness to help and followed as the team began to exit the room. Wendell held the door for her and then fell in step at her side. "You need a ride back to the lab, Molly?" he asked solicitously.

The young redhead felt her cheeks warm but she tried to maintain a professional expression. Dr. Brennan had paired her rotation with the senior interns, and while she appreciated all she could learn from each of the various experienced assistants, working with Wendell always left her feeling like a nervous teenager. "Yes, please."

Hodgins was the last of the squints to reach the door and as Booth and Brennan followed, he held out an arm to block their passage. "You do realize we have no workable evidence."

"We will find something, we always do," Brennan insisted. Her tone warned him that she was in no mood to have her argument refuted and Hodgins clamped his lips closed.

When the duo passed he too stepped through the door. "Ok," he muttered to himself. "But there was more evidence with the Gravedigger than what we have on Sweets. How the hell are we going to find him?"

B&B

"Boss?" Claudia stuck her head in Booth's partially closed office door, wincing slightly when she thought she had interrupted a private moment between her superior and his partner.

Booth stood from where he had been crouched in front of Brennan's chair and waved Turner into the room. "You're fine, Turner. Come in." He moved to sit behind his desk, picking up his coffee cup and absently taking a sip. "Did you get in touch with Sweets' other friends?"

"Yes." Claudia sighed and dropped into the chair next to Brennan. "No one has heard from Lance in awhile. Not even a text. Which makes sense; we've been really busy with work and everything." Her voice trailed off as she looked over to the windows.

The partners exchanged looks of concern, and while Booth struggled to find words of comfort for his colleague, Brennan fell back on what she found soothing in times of crisis. Facts. "Claudia, Booth and I were just going through what steps the team is taking to find Sweets. Would you like an update on their progress?"

With a grateful sigh, Turner nodded her head and listened intently as Brennan outlined exactly what the Jeffersonian was doing to aid in the search while Booth continued to flip through the paperwork in front of him, pretending to read. When his office phone rang, interrupting Brennan's speech, Booth snatched the receiver in relief.

"Booth." He listened for a moment before his eyes widened and a soft "Where?" escaped his lips. Both women unconsciously leaned forward, hanging on every small word they could hear from Booth's end of the conversation. He grabbed a pen and made some notes, thanked the caller and hung up the phone with a heavy sigh, scrubbing his face with his hand as he sat back in his chair.

"What is it, Booth?" Brennan asked, studiously not looking at Turner sitting tensely next to her.

The agent looked both of them in the eye for a moment before finally speaking. "The body of an unidentified white male was found in Bethesda at the Norwood Recreation Center, on one of the hiking trails. They don't have a local morgue there, so they sent the body to Walter Reed."

"Is it…I mean, do you think…" Claudia swallowed thickly, unable to vocalize the rest of her question.

Booth shook his head, more sorry than he would ever be able to express that he couldn't answer her question. "I don't know, Turner. The, you know, vitals match. But…"

"We won't know anything until we can see the body." Brennan finished for him. Booth looked to her gratefully as she turned to Claudia. "We will have to go identify-"

"No." Booth stood, collecting his keys and wallet from his desk drawer. "Neither of you need to be there for this." He ignored their immediate protests, rounding the desk and their chairs as he made his way to the door. "I can call you when-"

"Booth." Claudia's softly spoken protest stopped him dead, his back still to the office. "I know what you're trying to do and I appreciate it. But I need…don't you see? Lance, he might be…and, well, I just…"

In an uncharacteristic move, Brennan reached for and clutched Claudia's clammy hand in hers. "Booth, we're both going. It's not open for debate."

Booth turned and took in the determined, steely resolve in his partner's eyes and the desperate worry in Turner's and sighed. "Fine. But I will go in alone."

Brennan shook her head. "We'll talk about it on the way. Let's go."

B&B

The short ride to Bethesda was ripe with tension and almost paralyzing silence. Claudia sat in the back of the SUV, staring listlessly out the window as Booth tapped nervously on the steering wheel and Brennan fisted her hands against her thighs, fighting the urge to slap his hands to get him to stop. Finally, she reached over and placed one firm hand on his thigh, squeezing tightly. Booth glanced at Brennan quickly, getting the message. He cleared his throat and tried to focus on looking for the exit to Walter Reed National Military Medical Center.

"This is where they moved the medical center when the original Walter Reed closed in DC?" Brennan asked, seeing the signs for their turn.

Booth nodded. "Yeah. Remember that whole scandal with the Army, when Secretary Harvey and General Kiley were forced to resign because of how they had let the hospital deteriorate?" Brennan tipped her head in acknowledgment. "Anyway, they changed the name and moved it to the Naval Medical Center grounds, but kept the name, essentially."

"I understand." Brennan glanced back at Turner as they pulled into the parking structure for the hospital. Booth showed the guard his badge and explained the reason for his visit, and they waved the car through.

Once Booth had parked, he turned in his seat and addressed both of his passengers. "Bones, Turner…I know that you both want to come in, but-"

"No, Booth." Brennan shook her head slowly. "I do not."

"Neither do I, Booth." Turner's quiet declaration and Brennan's refusal had him both relieved and confused.

"Bones? I thought that you wanted to come in?"

She squirmed in her seat for a moment, glancing again at the silent woman behind her. "I thought about it on the way here and…I find that I…" Brennan turned her head back to look Booth in the eye and he was almost shocked to see tears hovering on her lashes. "Booth, what if it is Sweets?" Her whispered question was heard loud and clear inside the stillness of the SUV. "I don't think that I-that is, I cannot…" Nodding, Booth wrapped one large hand around her nape and let his thumb rub small circles on the skin right below her ear.

"Alright, Bones. Okay." He moved his hand and swiped at the tear that had escaped her lashes. Looking back at Turner, he tried to smile and failed miserably. "Claudia? Listen…it's probably not him, alright? This is just…eliminating the possibility. Covering all the bases. Okay?"

The younger agent nodded. "I know." She sniffed. "And I appreciate you doing this, Booth. But…could you do me another favor?"

"Sure, anything."

She managed a half-smile. "Please don't call me Claudia ever again."

Booth chuffed a short laugh, nodding. "You got it, Turner." Pulling the keys from the ignition, he handed them to Brennan. "Stay here, lock the doors." At Brennan's look, he shook his head. "No, Bones. Not this time. Just listen to me and lock up, alright? Please?"

"Fine." Brennan could feel the tension rolling off her partner, and decided that easing his mind was more important than asserting her independence. "We'll be here, waiting for you."

"Thank you." He breathed, gratefully. "I'll be right back." They watched as he exited the car and walked determinedly towards the elevators to the hospital.

Once he was gone, Brennan turned and regarded Claudia closely. "Are you alright?"

The answer was short, to the point, and starkly honest. "No."

Brennan understood, and faced forward again, leaving her companion to her own thoughts in silence.

B&B

Booth hurriedly threw open the doors, leaving them swinging behind him as he headed for the nearest exit. He needed fresh air, something different from the stifling, death-filled air of the cold, windowless morgue. He ignored his own heaving chest as he found a small, out of the way alcove where he could pull himself together in private. The images he had flashing through his head would not let up as he pressed his forehead to the cool stone in front of him, trying to take long, deep breaths. In the back of his mind, he had always known that this was a possibility but he didn't allow himself to believe it would ever end that way. The idea that he would ever have to attend the funeral of another friend taken way too young was abhorrent to him, and his fists clenched at his sides as he fought the wave of emotion that washed over him.

Finally, after several minutes, a sense of calm washed over Booth, sharpened by a determination and focus that had served him well when he wore a very different kind of uniform to work. He turned from his impromptu hiding spot and headed for the elevators, mentally composing what he would say to Brennan and Turner when he got back to the car, knowing that no matter how he said it, it was both good news and bad news. Sweets was alive, but the search would have to continue.

* * *

><p>The room was dark. The body slumped in the chair was barely discernible from the inky darkness around him. There was no sound, no indication at all of where this unrecognizable man was being held captive. For a long time, what he felt was far too long, nothing happened and a tension began to mount. As the moments of darkness and silence passed, it began to feel as though the air, growing thick with anticipation, was getting harder and harder to breathe.<p>

A soft sigh that emanated from the unmoving body was the first sign of life. Then there was a groan and his head began to awake, shifting with the first precursor that the silence was beginning to shatter. Bright light stabbed the dark, the white glare of the television screen the lone illumination in the room.

A familiar feminine voice began to speak through the TV. "The standards we have established for academic distinction are quite high. Dr. Sweets holds degrees which provide him the credentials and expertise to meet and even exceed our expectations."

The narrative shifted to a second, equally familiar voice and the unconscious form began to stir in recognition. "Our success rate is one of the best in the world. We couldn't do that without team members who hold themselves to the highest standards and Dr. Sweets is as committed to that goal as the rest of us."

A male voice then spoke and the sound of the gruff yet familiar voice jarred the semi-conscious man to pay attention to the screen in front of him. "We call Dr. Sweets a human lie detector. The information he provides to us is amazing in its accuracy. The kid looks like he should be playing little league, but he is a heavy hitter for sure."

"Booth?" Sweets managed to croak.

The faint word he managed to eke out brought the sound from the television to an end and the room was again thrown into complete darkness.

From out of nowhere and yet at the same time seemingly everywhere, he heard, "You ignored me…"

Urged by the woman purring accusations within inches of his ear, Sweets tried to raise his hand to his face but something was holding it down. Groggily he asked, "What?" The warm glow of a lamp lit the room but he flinched from it, blinking rapidly to alleviate the sting of his eyes adjusting to the change.

A lanky blond came into full view, pulling a chair over toward him to sit so close that their knees were touching, "You. Ignored. Me."

"I-I what?" He looked around his new environment. It was, from what he could see from the chair his forearms were secured to with duct tape, a large home, built in the last 25 years, with white walls and sparse furnishings. He could be anywhere in the country, in the world really, because he had no idea how much time had passed. He looked back to his captor and studied her face. The only word that came to his hazy mind as he looked at her in the still-dim light, , was luminous. Silken blonde hair that framed her pale ivory skin in such a way, it looked as though she was constantly bathed in rays of light. She probably could've have passed for some kind of celestial being if it weren't for her eyes – ice blue and bewitching as hell. Devil or angel, he would have remembered meeting this woman. He leaned forward and sternly assured her, "I do not know you."

"And from my perspective that is entirely your fault, Dr. Sweets. Or do you prefer Lance when you're out of the office? I never know what you egghead types want to be called and I don't want to offend. I mean, you did earn that title so which do you prefer? I'm fine with either."

"Wait…" Sweets closed his eyes and tried to remember something, anything from before his world went dark but it seemed the harder he tried to remember, the more clouded his memories became. "I was on the…" he looked down at his own feet and instead of inquiring as to why he was suddenly barefoot and his ankles were, like his wrists, tied to the chair, he glanced over at the woman's feet. "Your boots…The paisley boots? Wait…wait, OK, I left work and went to get…" He stopped himself from remembering aloud that he was going to the diner to get the pastries Claudia loved so much because he didn't want to offer up any personal information that could later be used against him.

"I'll help you," she leaned back in her chair and helped her captive paint a mental picture of the previous night, "it was raining and you were going to the Royal Diner because you always go there for dinner when Agent Turner works late."

Sweets gave in, "Yeah, I was headed to the diner and...then…then someone… You, I'm pretty sure it was you, grabbed my arm and jabbed me with something and then a man…." He looked up at her sharply as though in one split second all of his faculties returned, "You drugged me."

Smiling like a little girl who finally received her long-dreamed-of pony, she sighed, "I knew it wouldn't take you long to come around." She pulled out a slim remote control and without looking turned on a large plasma TV that was behind her but directly in Sweets' eye-line. Before she hit 'play' she looked at him and tapped him on the leg, "This is my favorite part."

The minute the DVD began, Sweets recognized the night's entertainment immediately. A few months prior, the Discovery Channel had done an hour-long special about the Jeffersonian team, including Booth and himself. His paisley-hoofed host already had it queued up for the part about him.

While shuffling still photos and newspaper clippings of Sweets with various members of the team across the screen, the narrator began;

The youngest member, Dr. Lance Sweets, began his association with the team when he was assigned by the FBI brass to conduct a partners' evaluation of Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan. Very soon, however, that relationship evolved from providing the occasional suspect evaluations and profiles to becoming a vital member of the team offering full consultations and participation in active interrogations. According to Drs. Brennan and Saroyan, Dr. Sweets has become an integral and welcomed part of their crime fighting family.

Sweets closed his eyes, trying to ignore the narrator's voice when she began to replay the clip. He had to tune the ambient noise out to put all of his energy into discovering what kind of hell this was and how he was going to escape it.

B&B

After few minutes, his beautiful captor turned on the overhead fixtures once again, causing Sweets to try to shield his eyes from the sudden burst of bright light. His head ached and the contents of his stomach felt full of what he'd once seen cleaned out of the fryers at the diner one night. He had felt something similar to this on his fair share of occasions while in college; celebrating the end of finals with more gusto than warranted, or when he had over-indulged himself a little too much when a pretty girl offered him her phone number. But he had never woken up feeling as though he had licked the sidewalk on Fifth Avenue from one end to the other prior to crawling into bed.

However, this morning he didn't just feel hung over, he felt woozy and to be honest, if he hadn't checked his pulse repeatedly, he would have been certain he was more than slightly dead. "What did you dose me with?'

"A drug called Xyrem – it's a form of GHB usually prescribed for narcolepsy." She approached him, placing a high-end tea service in front of him, "Are you feeling ok, do you need anything?"

He looked at her in disbelief, "Uh yeah, I need to get out of here."

She smiled, "I am so sorry, sweetie. That's just not going to happen. Would you like some tea and a biscuit?" She poured water from the teapot into two ready cups without waiting for his answer.

No, I don't want anything from you." He shook his head and asked, "How did you get a hold of Xyrem, it's incredibly hard to get?"

She sat down with a delicious smile on her face, "I went to a sleep specialist, and faked narcolepsy." The look of disbelief on his face urged her to explain herself, "You know, it was a lot easier than I thought it would be, I went on Wikipedia and checked out WebMD and before I knew it, I was a walking, talking encyclopedia on the illness." She slid his cup of tea in front of him and then crossed her arms in front of her, "The tricky part was the sleep test but a little Xanax and Benadryl took care of that. Within three weeks, I was receiving the Xyrem on a monthly basis."

Picking up on the almost confessional nature in her tone, Sweets probed, "Do you enjoy telling me things like that?"

She sighed and wiped the non-existent running eyeliner from under her eyes, "I like to let people know how crafty I am but only after I've gotten from them what I need." Setting down her cup of tea, she pointedly looked at him, "But you, my Lance…You are special, I'm making an exception."

"What kind of exception?"

"I gave you a glimpse before I asked you for what I want. You get a peek into my secret, but that is all the hints you get. I thought about giving you more time but you are so special Lance, there is no way you need more than a day."

He thought for a second and then asked, "What makes you think I'm so special?"

"I think you're so very special, Lance. When I saw you in the documentary, I remember thinking to myself 'the rest of them belong there but not you. You, my love could have done anything."

"I don't know what you mean."

She smiled again, a coy, smirk of a smile, and then turned away from him. Lifting her own teacup, she ignored him. The way she sipped it with focus gave Sweets the clear message that she would not say more until he attempted to play her game. As he thought back to the short amount of time they had spent together, he realized that there were several things he needed her to clarify. He began with the first words she uttered to him.

"How did I ignore you?"

"You tell me," she immediately answered with dark humor. She set her cup down and waved a hand, tracing the contours of her gorgeous form. "I mean really, how were you not drooling over me? I look phenomenal in a ball gown."

"Ball gown," Sweets mumbled as he tried to remember why that would be important. The detail came quickly; he had only attended one formal event in in the last year. "The Samson Foundation Black Tie Ball?" he asked, already knowing it was the correct answer. It was the only event he had attended, but it was an important one. The Sampson Foundation worked to provide support to children in foster care and that was a cause he gave his full support.

"You do remember!" Paisley exclaimed happily. "After I watched the documentary, I did a little research and found you were on the Samson Board of Trustees. That all but guaranteed me a chance to meet you and I went all out in my preparations for our introduction." Her flash of pleasure evaporated almost immediately and she scowled at him. "I was looking quite exceptional that night. Of course it was all for nothing because you didn't even notice me. You still don't remember me do you?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "Of course you don't. You were far too involved with your friends that evening, Lance. Your little group should learn to branch out more. I'm sure that insularity serves you well in your line of work, but it's rather rude in a social setting."

Memories of that night flooded his still recovering mind. He had been rather self-absorbed that evening. "I wasn't trying to be rude," he apologized sensing that a continued argument about her perception of his behavior from that night would do him no good. "I was...there was something on my mind."

"What, did you have a fight with Claudia?" she asked lightly. He looked away and she crowed with delight. Her hands clapped once and she gave him a taunting grin. "You did! Tell me," she said in a rush as she propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hand. "What was it about?"

"Nothing," he said trying to evade any discussion of his girlfriend.

"You're not protecting her, you know. Where do you think I sent Adam off to this time? Besides," she rested her elbows on the table, "it's not like we are going anywhere," she said her giddy excitement evaporating to a menacing promise.

Sweets flexed his still bound ankles trying to provide some circulation to his feet. His limited range of movement reminded him that he had few options so he played along. "She doesn't clean the trap in the dishwasher."

"That's it?"

"Do you know what kind of disgusting filth can clog in there?" he automatically ranted. "It's a bacteria farm and if you don't clean all that gunk out it just goes right back onto the next load of dishes!"

"I can see it's quite upsetting to you." She sniffed disdainfully, "Seems kind of silly to me."

Sweets sighed and shook his head. "It's not that big a deal. It was just our first real fight and it kind of got out of hand. We said some things we didn't mean. By the time we got to the party, I had cooled down. I was preoccupied because I was trying to find a way to apologize."

"Horizontal apologies always work well," she advised with a suggestive leer, "especially when both parties are naked as sin."

The ease of their exchange gave Sweets an opening he had been hoping for. "Why am I here?" he asked with as little accusation as he could manage.

"The documentary is really fascinating, you know," she said as if it were an explanation. "They were very complimentary of your skill."

"The documentary?"

"Yes. I watched it avidly. I was delighted to see you in attendance at the ball and quite vexed when I had absolutely no success gaining your attention." Her mouth curled into a pout that accentuated the lusciousness of her plump lips. "I so wanted to meet you."

"But, I ignored you," Sweets finished.

"Exactly," she said and her pout was gone and in its place was a smile that revealed more cunning than it covered up. "So, I decided to invite you over to play a little game. Do you want to play a game?"

The words Global Thermo-Nuclear War rang clear as a bell in Sweets' head but he refused to let himself utter the traditional geeky response to that question. "What kind of game?" he asked instead.

"You are going to uncover my secret."

"And what's that exactly?"

Moved closer to him on the couch, "I'm special…and not in the every-snowflake-is- unique kind of special. I'm a rarity, or so the professionals have told me." She reached out and tapped him on the nose, "I'm giving you roughly 24 hours to determine if you can tell me what it took dozens of other so-called mental health professionals the bulk of my life to tell me."

"You want me to tell you what your secret is?" he repeated emphasizing the order of the words. "The secret that you're already aware of?"

"You are a brilliant psychologist," she said with a shrug, "if that Dr. Brennan of yours is to be believed, you are one of the best. So prove it."

"You want me to diagnose you?"

Her smile looked genuinely warm. "You are good." She stood and reached for his cooling cup. "I'd like another spot, how about you?" She continued talking as she emptied their cups and began to make more tea. "The documentary called you a 'human lie detector' and a 'brilliant profiler'. Heck, they called you everything but the 'boy wonder'. You have twenty-four hours to prove it."

"Prove what exactly?"

"I've been under the watchful eye of every type of specialist you can name since I was 12 years old – I know exactly what I am. I want to see how quickly you can figure it out."

"What if I don't care what you are?" Sweets asked feeling suddenly desperate to resist.

She looked up from the kettle with eyes so frigid he could feel his skin grow icy. "I took you off a public street at rush hour without anyone noticing. I didn't leave a scrap of evidence behind. What makes you think I can't kill you and get away with it, regardless of who your friends are?"

* * *

><p>"Anything?" Cam asked knowing her hope was wasted. If there had been anything promising Hodgins would have already called her. She had been reviewing the phone logs for the third time and Molly quickly cleared the printed reports from her workspace as Wendell and Hodgins approached.<p>

The scientist shook his head in answer and gestured for Wendell to lay their meager findings on the table. "Sweets' car is as weird as he is."

"What does that mean?"

"It means the guy is an enigma."

Cam pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and grimaced. She realized humor was how Hodgins dealt with stress, but sometimes being his boss made her want to shoot him. "I'd like some details Dr. Hodgins."

Wendell responded, the intern more susceptible to her implied threat. "Like Hodgins said, there isn't much," He held up a music CD. "The soundtrack to Sunset Boulevard, the original London cast recording even." He set it aside and lifted the next item.

"Is that what I think it is?" Cam asked.

"If you think these are a professional-quality set of Vulcan ears, then yes," Hodgins answered with a grin. "Those are the good ones."

"This can't be Dr. Sweets'" Molly said as she picked up the last remaining item. The pink thong was tiny and lacy and the intern's cheeks were slightly red as she held it up for display.

"I'm going to guess that belongs to Agent Turner," Wendell answered with a sly grin. The blush tint on Molly's cheeks flamed brighter and she dropped the underwear.

"What I want to know," Hodgins drawled as he picked up the discarded thong and let the lace dangle from his finger. "Is what were they doing in that car with this combo?"

Wendell held the latex ears to his head. "You think he was the science officer and Turner was the sexy alien or do you think it's the other way around?"

Cam gave them both a warning glare and spoke sharply. "Why did you bring this stuff back? It's not evidence."

Hodgins smirked, "It's evidence of somethin'…"

"Dr. Hodgins," Cam raised her voice slightly, "I think we should concentrate on finding answers to bigger questions."

The reprimand sobered both men and they each gave a contrite nod. "Yeah, ok," Hodgins responded. He dropped the thong and propped his hands on his hips. "The car was a bust. Sweets is a neat nick, I think he vacuums it daily. There aren't any signs of anything I can use as evidence."

"Ok," Cam said with a sigh. "I'll let Booth know."

Hodgins waited until she was gone and then reclaimed Turner's thong. "Wonder where they were going that Turner didn't need this?"

Molly bolted almost as soon as he finished the question. Wendell chuckled as he watched her flee. "Why do you do that?" he chided the older man.

"It's good for her," Hodgins said as he turned to follow the retreating girl. "She's kind of adorable," he drawled when he noted Wendell's grin.

Wendell looked at him without turning his head. "Don't go there."

"Why not?"

"She's cute, but she is way too quiet and shy."

"The shy, quiet ones will always surprise," Hodgins advised with a teasing lilt. "And they rarely disappoint."

B&B

"I'm back, Eve."

Paisley turned as the call sounded from behind the door. Before it could open to reveal her partner in crime, she was moving forward to greet him. She met him in the open doorway with a wide vapid smile. "How's my Adam, today?" she welcomed him as she stood on her tiptoes and threw her arms around his neck.

His massive arms circled her waist and he returned her greeting with an innocent smile. They kissed and he lifted her off her feet making her squeal as if delighted by the show of strength. "Put me down," she scolded with a playful swat to his shoulder. He dutifully set her on her feet and she tweaked his cheek. "Thank you. Now," she ordered keeping her voice light and adding a touch of hushed anticipation, "don't keep me in suspense. Tell me about it."

The handsome blonde looked over her shoulder and grinned at the sight of Sweets within hearing distance. His attention returned to his Eve and he gave a sly grin as they were the only two on the planet in on their little joke. It made him beam with pride to be sharing this particular joke with her. "You missed it, it was really funny. The car was sitting there right where he left it. I had to stand around for a couple of hours, but eventually these two guys showed up, just like you said they would. They spent a real long time looking for something. I don't think they found what they wanted, but they didn't seem too upset. They were laughing about something when they left anyway."

"And they were the only people to inspect the car?"

"Yep. Just like you said," he reported his head bobbing in the affirmative as he smiled proudly. "You nailed it, Baby."

"Thank you for watching. I know it was probably boring for you."

"Nah, it was fun. Besides, I'd do anything for you and you know it."

"I can think of something you can do for me later," she said as she leered up at him suggestively.

"Ooh, ok," he agreed reaching out to playfully tickle her ribs.

Paisley giggled and then snagged his hands. When she spoke her playfulness was gone. "It's time for the next step. Can you do that for me, babe?"

"Sure, sure, I can. What am I supposed to do?" He paused as if trying to remember his instructions. "Oh! I wrote it down," he said and sheepishly fished a slip of paper from his pocket. "Step two," he said as he unfolded the paper. "Oh, yeah!" He looked up from the paper with a proud grin. "I can totally do that!"

Leaning in he kissed her cheek and as he turned back through the door, he took one last look at Sweets and another grin as if he knew a terribly funny secret lit his face and the psychologist could hear him giggling as he turned away.

Sweets watched as Adam left the room and then looked back to the woman he'd heard Adam call Eve but Sweets could only think as Paisley, "What's he think is going on here?"

"I'm playing a game. He knows how easily I get bored."

"He's got no clue that you're using him?"

Paisley let out a sweet sigh as she folded her legs yoga style in her chair, "Not a one. He's perfect; willing to follow me anywhere, never asks questions, dumb as a rock and can go all night. Really, what more could a girl like me need?"

"Where'd you find him?"

"At a bar. About three years ago, he offered to by me a drink and followed that up with the promise of a night I'd never forget." She was studying him very carefully and after a beat of silence, she seemed to reach a decision. Uncurling her legs as she stood and walked to him. Sweets flinched as a very sharp-looking pocketknife suddenly appeared in her hand but she never lost her train of thought, "The next morning, instead of trying to leave before he woke up like I normally would, I realized that the kind of man he was could serve a great purpose in my life."

Resting the cool blade of the knife on Sweets' cheek, she lifted an amused eyebrow by his flinch and then she bent and quickly cut the tape from his ankles.

"Ouch!" he squealed as she quickly pulled tape, removing hair and skin along with it.

Her apology came with an insincere shrug. "Sorry."

It mildly surprised Sweets that she apologized but it didn't shock him at all that the word itself had no emotion behind it. He bent forward and rubbed his now stinging ankles before climbing to his feet, careful resting his bodily weight on each leg separately before he was certain that both knee joints could bear the load.

"How about a tour?" she asked as if he were a dinner guest. She turned and walked away from him without looking back, as if she simply expected him to follow along. Sweets stood still, eyeing the door on the opposite side of the room and tried to calculate how quickly he could make a run for it in bare feet.

Paisley noticed that he was mentally weighing his options, "Everything is locked tight. And, if I tell him to, Adam will beat you bloody without ever asking me why."

Sweets had few choices here. Even if he were able to overpower her, he would certainly come out the loser in a confrontation with her hulking partner. She had planned this meticulously, that was clear from her flawless abduction of him and the obvious study she had put into his life over the last few weeks. Most of what she had told him so far about herself and his situation was, almost without exception, a series of lies or exaggerations. But he knew with little doubt that the cold promise he had seen in her eyes when she threatened to kill him if he refused her had been startlingly honest.

There was a chance that no matter what he did, even if he gave this woman everything she wanted, he was never going to make it home but there was still the hope that she would let him go if he met her demands. The rational part of his brain kicked in and told him play along with her idea of a game if only for the minute chance that his captor was telling the truth and he would, after this ordeal was all over, get to go home.

_Home._

Just the thought of it brought the vision of Turner's face to him and he worried about how she was reacting. Paisley's early words troubled him because he knew they were true. If something happened to him, Claudia would blame herself. That was a burden he would do anything to avoid levying on here and that simple fact made his decision easy for him. Because he loved Claudia he would do this, he would do whatever this beautiful, narcissistic, manipulative woman asked of him, because he wanted to go home.

_Home to Claudia._

"If you want to get to work dear Lance then you should follow me."

"Maybe you should refer to me as Dr. Sweets." At her raised eyebrow, he explained. "You didn't ask me here for a social visit. You asked me here to evaluate you in a professional capacity. Calling me by my given name is unprofessional."

After a beat, Paisley nodded tightly. "Of course you're right, _Doctor_ Sweets." She enunciated his title with a sneer. "If you're finished complaining, follow me. Now."

Sweets ground his teeth in frustration and followed. The house was large and his "hostess" provided a running litany of descriptive facts as they moved through each room. It sounded like inane chatter, but Sweets could discern a tightly controlled narrative in the story that he was being given. Even under the lingering effects of the drugs and with the stress of finding himself captured he had already begun to analyze his captor – the first thing on his list of her traits was that she was not to be underestimated.

He followed her from room to room, taking note of the mementos and artifacts in each room. Simple things that most people touring the home would overlook as mere decorations, or memories of a family that lived large, told Sweets a completely different story, and that anything and everything left in plain sight was specifically there to catch his eye.

At the end of a long corridor, they reached a heavy mahogany door. The loud creak that wailed from its hinges as Paisley pushed it open assured Sweets that this was a room that hadn't had a single visitor in many years. She flicked on a light switch that barely illuminated half of the space but it offered just enough light for Sweets to follow her into the dark, musty room and ascertain the collection it held

She hopped up on the edge of the desk and shrugged, "This was my father's study."

His eyes immediately went to the wall-to wall book cases that were jam-packed from floor to ceiling, "He spent a lot of time in here reading?"

"He spent a lot of time in here doing something… I was never really sure what that was."

Sweets walked in a circle around the room, "It seemed he was interested in a little of everything…"

"Dad liked to read or at least he liked to come in here and be alone – no one bothered him in here."

Gingerly, he pulled one thin book off the shelf. He held it nearly a foot from his chest, fearful of any damage he could cause it, "Do you have any idea what this is?"

She glanced over and saw a worn book in one of her father's ever-important dust jackets, "An old book?"

"This is so much more than just 'an old book'," he held it up to give her better look at the cover and then looked it over himself again, "This is a first edition of "Where the Wild Things Are'." He carefully opened the spine and checked the publishing date, "1938, this is easily worth $10,000 or more. You didn't know this was in here?"

She shook her head, trying to pretend she wasn't moved by the discover but it was obvious she was. She sniffed once before looking back at the man she held captive, "He often brought his 'special books' up for story time – I was never allowed to touch them, mind you but I guess there was a part of me that always knew they were important to him."

"They must have been - look at the care he took with them. Special covers, gloves to read them with, dehumidifiers to the keep the pages from warping and he left them all to you." Sweets noticed, or as much as she would allow him to notice, his words clearly affecting her, "His tangible legacy for his immortal one."

B&B

"Hey, next time do you think you could go around me instead of through me?"

"Sorry."

Booth's short answer and the way he moved around her without giving her the same kind of treatment she had handed out let Cam know there was a problem. Turning with salad in hand, she followed him to the counter. "What's up?"

He was perched on a stool, arms propped on the counter with his head bobbing in response to the waitress as she let him know his order was almost ready. "Nothing." He glanced at her and her expression made the cold mask he had been holding in all day slide away, "You know what's wrong," he admitted.

Taking the seat next to him Cam laid her dinner aside and copied his pose. "It's bad," she agreed. Then, knowing Seeley Booth as she did she simply fell quiet and waited.

"It's worse than bad," he said through a sigh. They sat, neither speaking, comfortable with the knowledge that each was giving some real consideration to some very possible outcomes of their situation. "I knew that almost as soon as Turner showed up at our door. My gut has been priming me to prepare because there is very slim chance this is going to go our way. If I still gambled I'd go all in on our worst nightmare."

"But you don't gamble anymore."

"No," Booth answered meeting her eyes for more than one reason. "But, I still know the odds."

Cam nodded and looked away. "Yeah, and everything about them says we will never find him. That he's been gone too long, we have too little information, no evidence, no witnesses. If I was still a cop I would already have given up."

Booth leaned in her direction, his action prompting her to face his accusing glare. "No you wouldn't."

Cam's slim eyebrow lifted. "What? You don't think cops give up so easy?"

Booth's expression clearly showed that he understood her point. "It's too soon to give up," he lectured. "All we need is one clue. Bones is brilliant, this team is good. All we need is one clue and we're back in it."

"So we should probably get back to work and find a clue, don't you think Mr. Bray?"

Booth turned to find Wendell standing behind them and he cursed himself. The agent had to shake these negative thoughts, they were dulling his senses - there was no way he should have missed the squintern joining them. Worse yet, he should never have voiced those kinds of doubts where someone other than Cam, or Brennan, could hear them. "How long have you been standing there?" he demanded.

Wendell met his eyes with an understanding look. "Long enough, to hear Dr. Saroyan saying it's time to get back to work."

Their orders arrived and Booth threw down enough to cover Wendell's food and the order he was picking up for Brennan and Turner. "Come on," he ordered. "We don't have time to sit around yakking."

B&B

As the tour continued, anything Sweets deemed to be important enough to add into his overall impression of Paisley and ultimately, giving her what she wanted, he kept to himself. She let him spend as much time in each room as he needed and for the most part, the duo remained silent. For all of the rooms she allowed him in, it was her childhood room that most piqued his interest. The room appeared to have been untouched for years and he was surprised when she allowed him to sit on the pink canopy bed and flip through photo albums and other paperwork at his leisure.

The room itself seemed to be in the middle of a repainting project, it seemed that sometime ago someone had begun painting red over the once-dominating black paint but the project had been abandoned many years prior. Whether boredom with the current project or the promise of a new project was what robbed the young Paisley of the desire to complete the initial task was unknown to Sweets. But again, Sweet reminded himself that it was perfectly normal for an for an individual going through the throws of figuring out who they were to experiment with the pallets of their bedrooms.

The photo albums he found under the bed suggested more of the same internal upheaval all young adults go through but with much more severity - there were dozens of pictures of Paisley with numerous different kinds of peer groups; athletes, thespians, FFA, cheerleaders and even the pep squad but only Paisley was the recurring individual in any of the pictures. It seemed that once she was through experimenting with one group, she moved on. The constant changing of peer groups was not necessarily an indication of an antisocial behavior, plenty of adolescents engaged in such behavior but the rate at which she moved from social group to social group did alarm Sweets and it gave him a jumping off point to build a balanced and accurate profile of her. Pictures from high school formals were placed in the album by year and it appeared that she didn't not have a steady relationship with members of the opposite sex either because during this time with each new formal came a new young man standing next to her, smiling for the camera. As he looked closer, he realized that this was a collection of memories made by a woman who was trying to appear normal, a woman who at an early age was aware enough of what society required from her and she was merely trying to pass for 'the norm'.

Paisley watched from the doorway of the room she spent her early years in, almost brimming with excitement, there was so much she wanted to tell Sweets. But she knew that any information she provided him would taint his overall assessment of her and she hadn't gone through all this trouble for a basic and let's face it, run of the mill assessment of who she was.

As Sweets looked around the room, it was obvious that as an adolescent Paisley had been involved in a litany of different sports and organizations but none that she seemed to be involved with past one season, there were no trophies or varsity letters visible indicating that she excelled in any of the extracurricular activities.

Once he put the picture albums away, he turned his attention toward the bookshelves in the corner. Textbooks ranging from calculus to psychology had been left on the bookshelves; however any kind of identifier of the school it was purchased or borrowed from had been eliminated. He pulled out a folder wedged in between the books and aged-worn documents floated to the floor. Sweets immediately bent down to pick them up and soon found his lanky frame crouched down on the floor sorting through them. Transcripts from at least three different institutions showed that Paisley was never anything more or less than an average student. Her grades ranged from low Cs to high Bs – grades not spectacular or dismal enough attract any kind of attention. It was the notes that her teachers added to these progress reports that grabbed Sweets' attention. And more than just the reports, it was the buzz words that leapt off the page at him as he skimmed them; 'impulsive', 'cold', 'glib', 'unable to control behavior.', etc. Sweets glanced up at Paisley, it was obvious she was aware of what these progress reports said and they didn't seem to bother her.

Finally, Sweets came to a report written by one of her teachers who took the time to alert Paisley's parents to her impulsive behavior, her inability to stay on task, and her overall disregard for any and all authority. One teacher, whose name was scratched out, even tried to inform Paisley's parents that their daughter 'often thought she was the smartest person in the room' and warned them that this wasn't the run-of-the-mill failure to trust adults that most in her age group participated in, this was something to be watched.

Carefully watched.

B&B

After strolling through the home that seemed to have more rooms than the Biltmore estate, they found themselves back in the massive living room the tour had started in. She took him to her childhood playroom, one that it seemed she hadn't spent much time in for a number of years.

He paused at the mantle, taking great time to study a picture that appeared to be his captor's mother holding her quite tightly to her chest, "This is you and your mother?"

Paisley turned, "Yes, I believe I was about a day old there. My mother always told me that I came into this world kicking and screaming louder than any other baby in the nursery." She always told people that with such affection until the day when I was about 15 years old and I promised her that I'd leave this world the exact same way with the only difference being that I'd take as many people with me as I could."

"And how did Mom take that?"

She rolled her eyes, "She thought I was being overly dramatic, acting out to get attention."

Sweets looked around the mausoleum of memories that he was imprisoned in and then back to his beautiful captor, "I'd say your parents died in the last 5-7 years, you weren't incredibly close with them nor did you have much affection for them but you respected the role they had in your life and because of that you're now reluctant to throw away their things."

"Maybe I don't spend much time here or maybe I haven't had the time to clear this place out."

He rolled his eyes, "If you had the time to kidnap me, you had the time to get rid of your parents' things."

She cleared her throat, "Continue…"

"And I can tell you that they loved you very much."

"Oh, really?"

"The books in the library prove that – books on parenting, behavioral disorders… They were desperate to help you, to make sure that you had a normal life."

"Who determines what's normal?"

He looked around the opulent living room and he could still hear the faint sound of the fountain in the foyer, "Obviously growing up this way isn't what most people deem to be 'normal' but they wanted you to have a good life." He leaned forward and stared into her opalescent eyes, "It's why they moved from England, right?"

Normally, when people asked her about her life she became evasive but in this case, she knew that in order for him to complete his task she had to be honest – the hardest thing in the world for her to do. "I thought I hid my accent well, I've been here nearly 20 years."

"You hide the accent very well but 'tea and biscuits' is so ingrained in you and you can't hide that."

Giving the man his due, she smiled, "No, apparently I can't. We moved here when I was 15. My mother believed that I could be helped here, that the mental health professionals in the States were better trained and more progressive."

"But nothing helped, did it?"

"It's hard to say, I never believed I needed help. But no, in their eyes nothing ever helped – they ended up sending me to a boarding school in New England for my last two years of high school."

"At what age did they realize that you couldn't be helped?"

She shrugged, "They died thinking that there had to be someone or something out there that could help." She huffed, "Fools…They never gave up."

"How did your parents die? By the look of things it seemed they passed about the same time."

"Car accident."

"What happened?"

"I told you, a car accident."

"Yeah, but usually people say 'drunk driver' or 'fell asleep at the wheel'."

"They had an accident." She said bluntly. Without giving the psychologist more room to pry and leaving him curious about the role she might have played in the 'accident', she turned away from him and walked into the music room.

B&B

"Does Sweets have any enemies that we know of?" Angela asked in a quiet voice from her seat on the floor next to Hodgins in Brennan's office. The team had gathered, each feeling helpless and knowing that if they didn't get a clue soon that the helplessness would quickly become hopelessness and no one wanted that.

"No more than the rest of us." Booth grunted from his seat on the couch next to Brennan.

Angela opened her lap top, "Who would have the biggest grudge against him?"

Hodgins and Wendell started calling out the names of the particularly nasty perps they had helped put away in the last few years but after each name was mentioned, Angela did a quick Internet search and was able to confirm that each of the aforementioned criminals were still behind bars.

Amid the tension and everyone talking out of turn, Brennan looked over at Booth and watched as he stared at the floor while grinding his teeth. She reached over and touched him on the arm, and he looked up at her, offering her a reassuring smile, "It's ok, Bones. We'll find him."

She simply nodded and squeezed his arm, for as far she'd come with understanding the emotions of others there were still times she felt herself at a loss for words.

Booth cleared his throat to get the group's attention. He spoke once all eyes were on him, "Right," he stood and popped his neck, "let's think…if Sweets was in trouble, who he would turn to. If he was being threatened or found himself in too deep with something. Who would he go to?"

The group watched as Booth, deep in thought, paced the length of the office several times. No one spoke up because to them, Booth's question seemed rhetorical.

From her seat behind Brennan's desk, Cam bit her lip, not wanting to be the one to state the obvious. Hodgins looked over at Angela with raised brows and she nodded, letting him know that she too knew the answer to Booth's question.

After several long moments, Turner spoke up. "Sir? If Lance was in trouble, if he needed help, you would be the first person he would turn to."

He looked over at Turner and then to the rest of the group who, it appeared, all agreed with the younger agent, "Right…"

"Seeley, has he been acting odd lately?" Cam asked.

"No, I mean no more than usual." He cupped the back of his neck and sighed, "He did stop by my office one day last week and…I-I told him I didn't have time to talk to him, I wanted to get home and I just thought that he wanted to talk to me about the new book he was writing." Booth looked to the group, "He didn't seem upset, I swear. He just told me he'd catch me the next day."

"Did he?" Turner asked.

Booth shook his head, "No, you and I went out to pick up Green and then spent most the day interrogating him – I don't even remember seeing Sweets that day."

"You know, I barely saw him this week and I live with him." Claudia ran her hands across her face, "This Green case has kept us busy and Lance has been crazy busy with his book."

"I had lunch with him Thursday." Hodgins offered to the group, "Not on purpose but we were in the same place at the same time so…"

"How did he seem?" Angela inquired.

Jack scratched his brow, "He seemed like, I don't know…He was Sweets, you know? I didn't notice anything different about him."

"What did you guys talk about?" Cam asked as she habitually reached for the hand sanitizer on Brennan's desk and rubbed it on her hands.

"Uh…" He thought for a moment and then chuckled as he remembered, "Oh yeah, I remember. We talked about how the Mayan calendar ends in 2012 because the last guy working on it got old and didn't leave a note before he died."

From the corner where she had been sitting quietly, Molly spoke up with a sly smile, "That's why you always leave a note."

Hodgins pointed at her and laughed, "Exactly, that is exactly what we talked about."

Booth flopped down onto the couch next to Brennan and sighed, "So, as far as we know there was nothing out of the ordinary going on with him so we have to go on the theory that he was either kidnapped or-"

Turner cut him off, "Or maybe he decided to run away."

"That's highly unlikely," Brennan, pointed out, "It was brought to my attention quite some time ago that all he wanted for himself was a place where he felt he belonged."

Angela stood up with authority, "He belongs here, with us." She walked across the room and stopped in front of Claudia, her expression brooking no argument. "And we're going to find him, don't doubt that, ok?"

B&B

"Can we talk?" Turner asked as she approached Booth in the Jeffersonian's lounge

"Sure, but I just checked in at the office, no new news. So, there's nothing really new to talk about." Sweets' disappearance had the bureau working double time and yet there were still no leads.

"I know… I just…" Turner took two confident strides forward and then stood up as straight as she could, if her voice couldn't demand that she be taken seriously than her posture would dictate it, "I would really appreciate it if everyone stopped treating me like a child."

He shook his head as he fell onto the couch, "I don't understand."

"I can handle the truth." Claudia smirked, thinking that Sweets would yell back at her, 'You can't handle the truth!'

"I know you can, Turner." He gestured for her to sit down next to him.

"Thank you but it's not you, it's everyone else, here and at the office. I walk into a room and people immediately clam up or they leave the room whispering – do they really think that I don't know what they're talking about?"

"They're just trying to be sensitive; they don't want to upset you."

"Upset me! They don't want to upset me? That is pure bullshit. People talking about Lance being missing cannot upset me anymore than the fact that he is missing! We have nothing to go on, we have no idea who took him, where they took him or why they took him. He's gone and we have no idea how to find him." She looked up at the skylights, the sky was grey and a light rain was falling. When she heard her internal voice waxing poetic about the weather fitting her mood, she turned back to Booth and yelled, "We're the friggin' FBI working with the geniuses of all geniuses and we've still got nothing! What the hell are we going to do?"

Booth had never seen her like this before but then again, the man she loved had never disappeared into thin air before either. Suddenly, he found himself even more desperate to find Sweets now that at any other point in the last 24 hours – Sweets handled hysterical people very well.

"We're going to get him back." Booth tried to sound reassuring but he was certain he sounded like a liar.

"Who are you trying to convince now, me or you?" Claudia started flipping through the thin case file she had been clutching for hours, "You don't know if we'll ever see him again, none of us do and I don't…I don't know what to do." She bit her bottom lip and inhaled, trying to not cry in front of him.

Booth often forgot that for all of Turner's brashness and sarcasm, she was after all just a girl, "Will you sit down?" When she remained standing, he added, "Please?"

Reluctantly, she dropped down into the leather chair across from him, "Yes?"

He dropped his voice and confessed, "You're right, I have no idea if we'll find him or even what happened to him but I can promise you that I will never stop looking for him – none of us will."

A single tear cascaded down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away, "I believe that, I do. He loves all of you; you know…I knew more about you and Temperance after my second date with him than I did about him. He sees you as family."

Booth smiled, "Well, he does have that annoying little brother quality so… yeah, family seems about right."

Claudia laughed, "It is cute when I see you two walking through the building, you're always a step ahead of him but he still manages to keep up and continues to yammer on and on about whatever it is you guys talk about."

"He does love to talk."

She covered her mouth with her hand and between her fingers she mumbled, "Oh yes, he is a talker. He talks all the time, you know?"

"I do but I don't want to."

Claudia stifled a yawn, it had been nearly 36 hours since she last slept and the lack of sleep was starting to wear on her but she could not rest, not yet. After a few quiet moments she asked, "Where do you think he is?"

He sighed, "Right now, I'm working off the assumption that he was either kidnapped for revenge or because the kidnappers think he knows something."

"Those are a lot better than the theories I've been conjuring up." She stretched her arms up over her head and let out a short yawn, "I've been leaning more toward dead in a ditch or in a seedy motel missing a kidney."

Since leaving the morgue earlier that day, Booth too had considered the fact that Sweets was dead several times but that was something he could never admit to the woman sitting across from him or to anyone else for that matter, "Claudia, you have to believe we'll find him, unharmed with all ten fingers and toes and with both his kidneys intact."

* * *

><p>"This is very exciting!"<p>

Sweets looked into her beautiful eyes and tried not to shiver. 'Exciting' was not the word he would use. If he got this right maybe, maybe, he would go home. If he got it wrong, she would kill him. Then again, she might kill him even if he gave her exactly what she claimed to want. "You are certain you want to hear this?"

"Nervous?" she asked revealing a smile of delight.

"Very."

"I know what it's going to say."

"Then why do this?"

"You know why. Now, come on, I'm tired of waiting."

Sweets glanced at the notes in his hand. The scribbled thoughts she had allowed him to jot down, in the brief thirty minutes of preparation he had been granted, were either his lifeline or his death sentence. There were no other options. He squared his shoulders, cleared his throat as if he were providing a lecture, and then began to speak. "I find you are impulsive, with a need for excitement that influences most decision making."

"What is that?" she interrupted.

Her cool question made him wince. "My assessment."

"I asked for your professional assessment, Dr. Sweets, and you insisted on being referred to by your professional title." she stated in a crisp, businesslike manner. "I would expect that your response would be given in a more acceptable manner."

"Professional."

"Of course. And clinical."

Sweets sighed and tried to shift his mental focus. "Clinical...I don't have a formal assessment prepared. I didn't have time. I just have notes."

"You can wing it. Time to prove you are as good as you were purported to be. "

Sweets studied her, his mind processing what he saw even as he formed his words. When he spoke his tone was as professional as any he had ever used in legal testimony or clinical treatment. "Subject is a blonde Caucasian female, approximately 28-34 years of age, oriented to person, place, time, and situation. Originally from the UK, she is an only child whose parents immigrated to the US for the purpose of obtaining specialized psychiatric services for their daughter. They died within the last 5-7 years as a result of a car accident of unknown cause, leaving her without family. She is currently involved in a heterosexual relationship with her accomplice in this kidnapping endeavor.

Based on this short observational period, subject is easily bored and impulsive. Her actions, including this kidnapping which was accomplished through the systematic study of my personal life, my schedule and that of my associates, indicate an above-average level of intelligence, organized thinking, and the ability to implement goal-oriented behaviors. Examination of the subject's childhood environment implies a careful staging with a particular impression and goal in mind." Paisley lifted an eyebrow at that comment, but did not interrupt him.

Sweets took a deep breath to allow himself time to think. "The subject, while cooperative during this forced evaluation, is generally glib and superficial but possesses the social dexterity to act and react in socially acceptable ways which would preclude most laymen from discerning her true nature. With a displayed lack of empathy or remorse, it can be assumed that the subject builds no deep emotional connection to anyone, including sexual partners. Her behavior can be considered impulsive and manipulative, but would more accurately be described as a commitment to her egocentric and antisocial agenda."

Paisley held up her hand and he stopped speaking. "And your diagnosis and treatment recommendation?" She asked.

Sweets met her eyes as he gave his opinion. He knew he was right and he wanted to see that she knew it too. "Based on the behaviors observed and the information set out by the subject, indications are a Psychopathic personality. This is also an observation based on experiences of this practitioner with other individuals that have presented with psychopathic personality traits. Extreme caution would be recommended as, at this point in time, no treatment for this personality type is available." He saw the flash of pleasure in her eyes just before the dark hood settled over his head and he felt the sting of a needle in his arm.

B&B

You should go home."

Brennan gave her partner a cold stare that would have sent many a man scrambling to apologize for making the suggestion. "I'm not going anywhere."

"It's late and you need sleep." He glanced at her belly making it clear why he was so concerned.

"She's pregnant, not incapacitated, Seeley," Cam scolded. "One late night won't hurt her or the baby. It's good training for after the little one gets here."

Brennan turned to the pathologist and nodded her appreciation. "Thank you, Cam."

"What is that, some code between mommies?" Booth growled.

"Whoa, I think Brennan isn't the only one who needs sleep," Hodgins whispered too loudly.

Booth glanced his way and then leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his face. "It's been a long two days. Turner and I were up all night before…well, before."

"Which is why we are sitting here now," Turner added.

"Claudia," Angela soothed reaching out to touch the woman seated next to her on her office couch. "It's not your fault. If you had been with him we might be looking for you too."

"Or I could have shot them and prevented all this," the agent grumbled.

"Why do they always want to shoot people?" Hodgins asked and his wife elbowed him in the ribs.

"What if's won't do us any good," Cam lectured. "I know it's late and we are all tired, but let's see if we can't think of something, anything that we might have overlooked."

"I have particulates bigger than the clues we've already checked."

Cam glared at Hodgins, but didn't respond, once again reminding herself that humor was his defense. "What about…" Her meager suggestion was halted as Angela's monitor flared to life and a red dot and accompanying beep captured everyone's undivided attention. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked instead.

Angela was already on her feet and checking the display. Turner joined her, moving so fast she nearly crashed into the artist as she attempted to look over her shoulder. Angela took the younger woman's hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. "It's Sweets' cell phone. The GPS is active and I am reading him within a half-mile radius. It looks like he's at the Washington Monument."

Six eager team members jumped to their feet declaring their intent to investigate. "No!" Booth said with an adamant shake of his head. "It's me and Turner, that's it. Everyone else stays here."

"I'm going," Brennan argued.

"Not this time, Bones."

"What?"

"If you don't carry a gun you aren't going. We don't know what we are walking into." He explained, headed toward the door with Turner on his heels.

Brennan followed and she grabbed his arm as he crossed through the open doorway. "Booth."

"I mean it, Bones," he said his voice filled with quiet resolve.

"I'm not arguing," she said so quickly he fell to shocked silence. Her eyes darted over his shoulder to the impatiently waiting Turner. "If that were you," she said as her eyes moved to his. "I would be quite reckless in my eagerness to reach you."

An amazed smile lifted one corner of his mouth. She never stopped surprising him. "So keep an eye on Turner?"

Brennan nodded. "And be careful. I don't want you getting hurt either."

"I'm always careful," he promised through an almost-serious grin. His hand touched hers as it lay against his arm and then they parted knowing time could be important if that flash of hope was truly Sweets' location.

Turner was moving the instant he stepped from Brennan's side and his long legs had to work in quick strides to keep pace with her. The young agent was tense, but he saw no signs of the recklessness Brennan warned about. She was tight lipped, holding in her emotion as she moved with determination. They hit the outer door and in silent agreement turned toward the Mall. When Turner began to run Booth followed.

Covering the distance on foot was actually quicker than trying to maneuver through the pedestrian-friendly landscape of the National Mall and they were soon nearing the lush grass surrounding the Washington Monument. "Protocol," Booth warned and Turner reluctantly slowed.

Booth felt his sniper skills at the ready and he gave a practiced scan to the area looking for potential danger. Turner was doing the same and she finally spoke, her voice matching the coiled tension he could see in her body.

"No concerns on the perimeter."

"No, looks good," he agreed. "Don't drop your guard," he warned when she jumped forward.

In unison they drew their weapons. They moved quickly; impatience, hope and fear making it difficult to remain cautious.

On a sunny afternoon. the landmark would be crowded with sightseers, groups of tourists and families on vacation. At this late hour, however, there was no one and they crossed the empty space quickly, able to see clearly in every direction. The situation should have been tense, the two of them were completely exposed to anyone hiding in the cover of darkness, but his sniper-sharpened senses were sending no warnings. Everything about this was telling him they were alone. He rounded the corner of the monument and a cry from Turner made him spin to face east.

A form leaned against the base of the monument, slumped and unmoving. The bright lighting that illuminated the structure gave them a clear view and there was no doubt who it was. "Lance!" Turner called as she sprinted to him.

Sweets responded to his name, moaning and making a wobbly effort to sit up. Turner was touching him, searching his body for injuries and Booth bent and took the psychologist by the arm to help him sit upright. "Not again," he mumbled.

"He's been drugged," Turner worried aloud as she glanced up at her boss.

Booth gave a nod in understanding and reached for his phone. He called Brennan and asked her to bring a car so they could get Sweets a proper medical examination as he watched Turner again prod her boyfriend in search of damage bodily or otherwise.

"I'm fine," Sweets said, his voice clearer and stronger than it had been moments before. "It's just the drugs, I'm not hurt." He sat up straight and took Claudia's hands in his. "I'm ok."

The strong certainty in his voice was more than Turner had been prepared to face. With a cry of both relief and love, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. Sweets' arms circled her and he swayed slightly under her added weight. "It's ok," he promised as he pressed his face to the slope of her neck. "It's ok, Claude."

Booth let the couple hold one another for a moment but as he saw headlights approaching he spoke. "Bones is here, we should get you to a hospital, Sweets."

Turner helped him stand and Sweets wrapped his arm around her, partly to reassure her and partly for support as the drugs lingered in his system. "I need paper and a pen," he insisted.

"Yeah, ok. Come on, I think Cam was calling ahead so we should be able to get you right in to see a doc."

"It's important, Booth," Sweets insisted. "I need a pen."

B&B

Booth and Brennan stood back in the hallway as Claudia unlocked their apartment door and ushered Sweets inside. They followed the younger couple at a short distance, letting them take a few minutes to get settled.

Claudia's hands twitched nervously at her sides, her still-lingering upset obvious. "Do you want something to eat, Lance? Did she..?"

Sweets shook his head. "No, she made sure I ate." He looked up at her, aware of how ridiculous the next sentence he said sounded, "She took good care of me, I promise, Claude." He missed the look that passed between Booth and Turner as he bent his head to continue scribbling furiously, clearly trying to write down every single detail he could remember about his abduction.

"Sweets, man…we really need to get your statement. I got Hacker to let me take it from you, but they want it as soon as possible." Booth sat in the chair across from the psychologist, pulling out his note cards in earnest. Brennan and Turner moved into the kitchen, trying to give the two men their privacy, knowing that the younger of the two was more likely to open up without gawkers.

Booth watched, transfixed, as Sweets continued to write, muttering disjointed phrases and single words that made no sense to anyone other than him. Occasionally he would pause, shake the building cramp from his hand, then go right back to writing. Booth glanced around the room, catching his own reflection in the mirror above the couch; the tell-tale creases deepening around his eyes told him he wasn't helping anyone by trying to force the story out of the kid.

"Sweets?" Booth tried again, his last effort before he packed it in for the night. "I need to get this statement. Even just…anything. Something I can give to the FBI to get started on-"

Sweets head jerked up, eyes wide. "I can't, Booth. Not right now. I need to get this all down, it's…" He wrote something else down, shook his head, scratched it out and began writing again. "It's important. If we want to understand her, if we want to find her, I need to do this." He looked from Claudia to Brennan, who had been drawn out from the kitchen at Sweets' desperate tone, then back to Booth, now visibly calmer. "I need to do this, Booth. I can't explain it, but if I write everything I can remember down while it's still fresh…"

"Yeah." Booth nodded, tucking his note cards back into his suit jacket. "No, I get it." He gestured to Brennan as he stood, ignoring her questioning look. "What do you say I come back in the morning, we'll go get some breakfast, and you can tell me everything then?" At Sweets' grateful nod, he turned to Claudia. "Turner, you make sure he gets some sleep. I'll be here first thing to get you two. Alright?"

"Yeah." She stood, taking a brief hug from Brennan while peering at her boss over the other woman's shoulder. "Thanks, Booth."

"Anytime. Let's go, Bones." He pulled her from the apartment, not quite willingly, leaving Sweets and Turner alone for the first time since he had been found.

"Lance?" Claudia tentatively sat next to him, trying to tread lightly but barely hanging on by a thread. Her voice sounded tinny and small, even to her own ears. "Could you look at me, please?"

The tone in her question managed to permeate the concentration Sweets was enveloped in, and he finally looked up into her eyes. With a sigh and not a small effort, he set down his pencil and turned his body to face hers. As soon as she had his attention, Claudia threw herself at him, pulling him close and trying unsuccessfully to stifle a sob. Guilt welled up in his chest and he held her tight, rubbing comforting circles on her back and murmuring nonsensical words in her ear, relieved when she finally started to relax.

With her head buried in his neck, Claudia never saw his eyes drift back, almost on autopilot, to the paper and pencil sitting abandoned on the coffee table.

B&B

"You okay, Bones?" Booth asked as they stood together at the kitchen sink, cleaning up after dinner. "You've been pretty quiet all night."

Brennan shook her head, and then nodded. Exasperated, she dropped the sponge in the sink and turned to face her partner, worry etched all over her features. "I cannot decide what I am feeling at the moment." She sighed as Booth took her hand and led her to the kitchen table. "I am glad that we found Sweets and that he was unharmed. But I can't help but feel a little responsible for what happened to him."

"Why would you feel like that? You didn't have anything to do with what happened, Bones." Booth watched, concerned, as she sat at the table, hands folded in front of her.

She sighed, shrugging one shoulder self-consciously. "If we hadn't brought him onto the team…if we hadn't made that documentary…if I hadn't blackmailed-"

"Now wait just a minute there!" Her head jerked up in surprise as Booth slammed him palm on the table in front of her. "Stop that right now, Bones." He pulled the chair next to her out and sat down heavily, eyes flashing in anger. "You can't blame yourself for this any more than I can. Or Cam, for that matter." At her questioning look, he turned to face her directly. "Bones, Cam sent me to you that first case. I sought you out, both times. I'm the one who started bringing Sweets in on cases, I'm the one who brings him along to question suspects…If anyone is responsible for the team, it's me. So blame me." He slapped his chest to emphasize his point. "Blame me."

Brennan closed her eyes, her deep-seated need to rationalize fighting with the emotion she had denied for so long. She knew, intellectually, that Booth was correct. She knew he was simply pulling the blame his way to highlight the fact that neither of them were at fault for what happened to Sweets. But knowing and accepting are very often two very distant things. "Booth…I just, I've been…" She took a deep breath and tried to collect her jumbled thoughts. "You know I do not handle overly emotional situations very well, and…"

"No, you used to have a hard time, Bones. You're much better now." He raised his eyebrow in question. "You're not going to use that old 'I don't have an open heart' thing again, are you? Because we both know that's a load of-"

"I'm not, I promise." She reached for his hand on the tabletop, idly linking their fingers. "I suppose I'm also disturbed by the fact that I could not go with you to identify the body that was discovered. Before we knew it wasn't Sweets, I was…terrified." She whispered her confession and it occurred to Booth that she sounded ashamed of her reaction. "All I could think of was how I was going to accept the fact that he was gone, and that we were never going to see him again, and I didn't want my last memory of him to be on a cold, metal table in a clinical, impersonal morgue." She took another breath and he noticed her hesitation.

"What, Bones? What else?" He gently encouraged her to continue.

She raised wide, watery eyes to his and he felt the telltale pinpricks of answering tears in return. "I was also thinking about…what if it had been one of us, Booth?" She swallowed reflexively. "What if…I don't want this child to grow up without their father and if it had been me? I can't even imagine what-"

"Hey, hey…" He moved his chair as close as he could get and pulled hers so they were sitting face-to-face, knees intertwined. "It wasn't us, Bones. This woman wanted Sweets for a specific purpose, not us. You know as well as I do that 'what-ifs' are pointless. We can't know what might have happened."

Sniffling, she nodded. "I do know, Booth. But we've both been taken before. Taffett, Kenton, Kennedy…and if it wasn't this time, it could happen again, and I…I just wonder if maybe this job is too dangerous for our family." She unconsciously placed her hand on her growing belly, now gently rounded and clearly defined. "We finally have this…us." He smiled in agreement. "I just don't want to endanger what we've built."

Booth held her hands tightly; happy that Brennan was able to open up to him without reservation, a fact that still knocked him off his axis sometimes. "Alright. Okay. I know what you mean." Her head jerked up in surprise at his agreement. "But…you know what we would have to do, right?"

She shook her head, understanding. "I realize that we would have to end our partnership. And I know how much that would hurt you, but-"

"Hey…don't worry about me." Booth reached for her, tipping her head up with his knuckle so she was looking him directly in the eyes. "One of the reasons our partnership has always been important to me, why I couldn't imagine ending it before, was because it was all I had of you. We solved crimes, we had after-case drinks, shared lunch and the occasional dinner during an investigation…but at the end of the day, we went to our separate homes, separate lives." Realization began to seep into her face. "Now, we have this…us. A single life shared." She smiled brighter than she had all night. "And I wouldn't give this, you and me, up for anything. So if you're worried and you think that we should quit working together, then I am in." He paused, making sure she was paying close attention. "I can always work with someone else, because I live my life with you."

Comforted more than she would ever have the words to express, Brennan leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Booth's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under his warm skin. He wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back in slow circles, waiting for her to come to the conclusion he knew she would. "I don't want to quit working with you." She raised her head slightly, catching his eye, before moving to sit on his lap, arms looped around his neck. He grinned in return and bent to softly nuzzle into her neck. "I enjoy working with you, with the team. We have a purpose. And I don't want to give that up."

"Are you sure, Bones? Because you just say the word, and-"

"No." She pressed a finger to his lips. "No, I'm sure. It is enough that you are willing to end our partnership if it becomes necessary. I appreciate that you are willing to put our family first." She removed her finger from his mouth and replaced it with her lips, kissing him softly. "For now, that's enough."

Sighing heavily, Booth hitched her up into his arms and stood. He ignored her squeal of protest as he headed for the stairs, his intent clear.

"Booth!" She squirmed slightly, holding his shoulders tightly. "Put me down!"

"Nope." He hit the landing and moved to their bedroom door, kicking it open. "You're not going to talk like that and expect me to not make love to you." Laying her on the bed, he let her scoot backwards until she was in the middle of the comforter. He kneeled on the mattress, leaning towards her predatorily. "Is that a problem, Dr. Brennan?"

Shaking her head slowly, wide-eyed and breathing heavily, Brennan smiled. "Oh no, Agent Booth. That is never, ever a problem."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Join us this Thursday when Booth and Brennan come face to face with a duo who believe they have committed the perfect murder in Don't Say A Word by Thnx4theGum &amp; GCatsPJ's<strong>_


	3. Don't Say A Word

Bones Season 7.5x03: Don't Say A Word by GCatsPJ's and Thnx4theGum

_Six Months Ago-_

_The shrill sound of the telephone ringing burst through the peaceful evening like a shot being fired. A sigh escaped from the man's lips, his glasses hanging precipitously on his nose. A quick glance to the telephone shows that the call is coming from his grandson's cell phone. "I wonder what trouble he's gotten into this time," the man mumbled as he dropped his pen onto the crossword puzzle he was working on. He lifted the receiver to his ear and growled into the line. "What?" There was a long pause on the line, and a little bit of static. "Ian?" the man grumbled. "Ian, stop messing around, it's late and you should be home." When nobody answered, he hung the phone up and mumbled to himself about how irresponsible it was for his seventeen year old grandson to be out gallivanting after dark._

_Not two minutes later, the phone rang again, and the man lifted it to his ear. "Ian, stop messing around. You should be home by now, and I don't want to hear your excuses!" _

_The reply on the line was not one he expected, and his words caught in his throat when the breathy, robotic voice came on the line. _

"_Your grandson isn't coming home tonight."_

"_Who is this?" The man shouted into the line. "Ian, is that you? Quit messing around!" His voice was angry, but his heart was beating wildly in his chest. "Ian!"_

"_Mister Clark, your grandson isn't coming home," the robotic voice said again. "We have Ian."_

"_What do you mean you have him? What are you talking about? Let me talk to my grandson!"_

"_You will be contacted in two hours with our ransom demands. Keep the line open,and don't call the authorities, or we'll kill him" _

_And the line went dead._

Present Day-

Walter Sapp pressed down on the accelerator just a little harder, but his focus not completely on the road in front of him. The snow sprinkled from the sky in large flakes, sticking to his windshield just in time for the wiper to make a quick swipe across his field of vision. "Stupid weather," Walter muttered to himself, squeezing the wheel with his hands, his knuckles were on the verge of turning white.

"It's October… October, and it's already snowing… Whatever happened to global warming?" He muttered, glancing at the temperature gauge on the console. "Are you kidding me?" He muttered at the temperature as he swerved around a slow driver in front of him. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, irritated that people were being overly cautious. He had a lunch meeting to get to, and it wasn't getting any earlier.

He looked to his watch and noticed that he only had a half an hour to get to the restaurant, and was regretting his decision for the shortcut. His phone started to ring. "Goddamn it," he said, grabbing the phone from the center console. He took his eyes from the road for just a second, but that was enough. He looked up in time to see a white dog dart in front of his car. His foot slammed down on the brake as hard as he could, and expletives sprung from his mouth as he heard the dull thump of the animal against the grill of his car. His plight wasn't through, however, and the snow on the road sent his car sliding toward ditch at the side of the road. His eyes widened at the sight of the row of pine trees just beyond it, and closed his eyes as the car slid into the ditch and rolled to its side.

It took a moment for Walter to realize that he was still alive, hanging sideways from the seat, he could feel his adrenaline pumping. He heard the sound of another car stopping behind him, and feet rushing toward his car. He heard the sound of a man asking him if he was alright, and just as he blacked out, the bloodcurdling scream of a woman.

* * *

><p>The tires of the SUV made a loud whooshing sound as the slush on the road slapped at its underside.<p>

"You should slow down," Brennan warned.

Without moving his eyes from the road Booth replied curtly, "I'm fine."

"It's snowing," she pointed out.

"Thank you Dr. Obvious," he muttered under his breath, foot still pressing hard on the accelerator.

"You're the one who's become over-cautious as of late," she bristled.

A retort sprung to Booth's lips but instead he clenched his jaw and refocused his full attention to the road, waiting a full minute to slow down ever so slightly. He watched the drivers in front of him, thankful for the siren that was cutting them a clear path. Every now and again someone would almost fishtail trying to get out of their way but by and large people were being as cautious as they could be as the sun began to set on the bleary, snow-filled day. He laid hard on the horn when an ugly orange car that looked like it belonged in a junkyard rather than the interstate puffed and wheezed its way up the hill in front of them without yielding.

"Booth!" his passenger scolded as he passed the car by moving to the right-hand lane and jamming on the accelerator.

He guided the SUV back into the left lane without any problems but this time he didn't slow down, half daring Brennan to challenge him a third time. What he did not expect was the soft touch on his forearm as she stated what they both already knew; what they'd known for hours.

"We aren't going to make it in time," her voice was soft and laden with regret, freeing them both from the tension that had been hovering between them for the past hour and a half.

Booth let out a sigh he'd been trapping for far too long and nodded, using the bad weather as an excuse to keep his eyes on the road, "I know."

Her hand lingered on his arm a few seconds longer, then was removed as she fished around for her phone. He listened to her dial the number and wade through the digital menu. Heard her speak with the OB-GYN's secretary and regretfully inform her that once again they would be unable to make their ultrasound appointment. There was a pause and he knew the secretary was setting them up for another one and Brennan thanked the woman and hung up.

"Tuesday at six," she informed him.

He threw her a small smile and a nod before once again fixing all of his attention on the road.

B&B

They parked the SUV just outside of the crime scene tape and right behind a police car with its lights flashing. A police officer stood to the side of them, directing traffic down the now one lane road. The snow was still light and fluffy, floating down and sticking to their coats as Booth and Brennan walked briskly toward the officers on the scene.

"Bones, can you please just be a little more careful walking on the pavement, it's a little slick, and…" Booth stopped lecturing when she turned sharply and eyed him. "I… can't keep up with you," he finished.

"The more snow that falls on the remains, the greater the possibility of contamination," she recited as she rounded the side of the emergency vehicle and stopped in her tracks. Her hand lifted to her mouth, and for a moment she looked like she was going to be sick.

"What is it, Bones?" Booth asked.

"A dog," she said, sucking in a deep breath, her hand remained over her mouth for a moment.

"Yeah, the guy hit a dog," Booth said, rounding his partner, he gave her a confused glance and then walked toward the body of the dog. "But the dog isn't the important part, Bones. It's the human arm that the dog had in its mouth." He looked to Brennan and could see that her eyes were wet with unshed tears, and her hand was still over her mouth. "Bones, are you alright?"

She pulled her hand from her mouth and reached into her bag for latex gloves. "I'm fine," she said, clearly affected by the remains. "I'll be fine, I just…" She turned away from him.

"She'll be fine," Cam said, appearing from behind one of the police cruisers. She eyed Booth for a moment and watched Brennan walk toward the remains. "Just give her some space. I cried at a Charmin commercial once."

Booth raised an eyebrow and Cam cleared her throat, "I have no doubts that Dr. Brennan can do her job effectively. The guy that hit the tree was fine, bumps and bruises, but alive. He claimed that he lost control of the car when he swerved to avoid the dog in the road. He hit the dog and landed on his side over there," Cam indicated. "A witness pulled to the side of the road to check on the victim, and the witness' wife found a severed arm with the remains of the dog. It appears the dog found a shallow grave in the woods. We have officers, along with Doctor Hodgins canvassing the woods right now."

Booth glanced to his partner crouched by the remains, he could see that she was still being affected by the scene.

"She'll be fine, Booth."

He looked back to Cam and though he wanted to say something, he thought better of it and pulled the notebook from his pocket, approaching his partner.

"Alright, Bones, what do we have? Man pisses off dog, dog bites man?"

"It appears that man has been dead much longer than dog, Booth," she said, looking up at her partner. "It's going to be very difficult determining much from the remains that we have here, but there's pitting on the bone consistent with acid."

"So, the guy was messing around with acid in the woods?"

"It would be more likely, that this man… or woman, was murdered, and the acid was an attempt to cover up the remains." She looked up and continued her examination. "From the length of the humerus here, I'd have to say that the victim is male, mid to late teens."

Their conversation was interrupted by the loud rustling of leaves and broken branches beside them. Alarmed, they looked up to find Hodgins emerging from the woods in complete field gear, a smile brightening his face. "Hey guys, you made it," he said, holding up a baggie. "We've got more remains… and look what I found."

"A bag of dirt," Booth replied sarcastically.

"No." Hodgins replied, the tone of his voice was indicative of ignoring the other man's tone. "It's the victim's wallet."

"Very good, Doctor Hodgins," Brennan replied. "I've found what looks to be evidence of an agent used to aid in the deterioration of the bones. Take samples of the soil surrounding the remains, and ensure that the remains aren't contaminated when removed. Ensure that the techs canvass the area thoroughly. I don't think we want to make another trip out here if we can help it." She said, standing up. "Booth?" She turned, watching his head snap to attention as she pulled another baggie from her bag. "I'll need the remains of the dog as well. She may have evidence in her stomach. And also…" She paused as she bent down over the dog. Carefully, she unsnapped the collar from the neck of the deceased animal. She then placed the collar in the bag, glancing for a moment at the tag as she stood up and faced her partner. "Please contact the owners of the dog," she said, watching his eyebrows lift, "If she were my pet, I would like to be informed."

He watched her eyes glistening with tears, and the way her teeth were clenching and unclenching in an attempt to maintain her composure. He took the bag from her hand and nodded without another word, then turned toward the officers on the scene to get their statements.

The remains were removed by nightfall and Booth ordered Chinese to the lab while the squints cataloged evidence; he cut them off at midnight, pointing out that a good night's sleep was needed if they were going to be any use to the investigation the next day.

* * *

><p>It was a slight nudge that yanked Brennan from her catnap in her office the next morning, causing her to snap to a sitting position and swivel her head around.<p>

"Just me, Sweetie," Angela said with a hint of bemusement. "Find anything in Vincent's report?"

Brennan's eyes flicked from Angela, to the couch, to the floor where the file lay unceremoniously where she'd unknowingly dropped it. Angela could almost hear the gears whirring in her friend's head as she flicked through her memory of the small portion of the report she'd read before dozing off.

Unable to come up with anything else Brennan shook her head to clear the last remaining sleep cobwebs before asking, "Did you find something?"

The artist clamped down on the rueful grin tugging at her lips and went along with Brennan's act that nothing was out of the ordinary, "I think I might have. Wanna see?"

Brennan did and the two women made their way to Angela's office. Various images of the half-eaten wallet and its contents were on the screen for Brennan to peruse and with a few movements of her stylus on the interactive tablet Angela brought one item to the forefront.

"The acid ruined the bottom half of the magnetic strip, obviously," Angela explained as the mangled driver's license came into focus, "but I salvaged enough of the front to pull off a number."

"Good," nodded Brennan.

"Not so much," the other woman countered, tapping her stylus again to bring up several other images. "When I got the license information back it seemed to fit our guy, but the rest of this stuff doesn't. Check it out."

The face of a white Caucasian man hovered in front of them and Angela continued her narrative, "According to the DMV, Ben Stoner is a twenty-one year old from Philly, but this library card was issued for the York public library - almost a two hour drive - and the guy's on welfare."

"What does being on welfare have to do with owning a library card?" Brennan looked confused.

"Nothing," Angela shook her head before bringing up the rest of the images, "but what's a guy on welfare doing with a platinum credit card and a wad of 100s?"

"Perhaps he stole it?" Brennan ventured.

"I thought so at first too, but look," Angela brought the license to the foreground again. "See how it's warped by the acid?" Brennan nodded and the artist went on, "I checked with Hodgins and the kind of plastic used on driver's licenses shouldn't have done that; meaning this plastic is lower grade."

"A forgery," the scientist nodded in understanding.

"Fake ID," her friend corrected. "High end one at that, which is no surprise given the cash and the credit card."

"That would make sense given that the victim was under eighteen," Brennan's brow furrowed in thought. "Were you able to gather any useful information from either the library or credit card?"

"A few fragments," Angela informed her. "I'm running all the data through the computer right now. It's running the known profile we've got against all missing persons that match that criteria within the last twelve months. Cam said she found evidence of alcohol poisoning so I'm guessing there was a lot of drinking going on that night."

A chime sounded from within the Angelatron and the face of a pimply-faced teenager with a shock of dark hair across his forehead appeared in front of them.

"Ian Clark," Brennan read the boy's name aloud, giving a curt nod as she reached for her phone. "I'll tell Booth."

* * *

><p>"Mister Clark," Booth began, sitting across from the older man. He held in his hand a picture of the victim's mug shot, and slid it across the conference room table slowly. "Tell us about your grandson."<p>

"Miserable. Worthless. Useless," The old man grumbled.

"It sounds like you had a pretty rough relationship with Ian, Mister Clark," Booth began.

"His mother was a drug addict. His father, my son… was sucked into her web of lies and deceit. I raised a good boy, and she turned him against me," he said angrily. "And when they both dropped dead of a drug overdose, I was stuck with their little spawn," he snapped. "Six months ago, he disappeared. Six months ago, I got this phone call saying he was kidnapped."

"It took you two days to report him missing, Mr. Clark," Booth said softly. "That really doesn't scream innocence."

"I thought the kid was messing around with me. The first call was from his cell phone. It was like he knew that he'd get caught if he called from it. The second was from some private number. Said he had been kidnapped. The kid had a knack for getting in trouble. What was I supposed to think?"

"He was your grandson, Mr. Clark," Brennan said with more than a tinge of anger in her tone. "He was your flesh and blood, and you didn't take this seriously? What is wrong with you?" She looked as though she was ready to leap across the table at the man, her jaw clicking in anger.

"Bones," Booth said, noting her heightened emotional state. He didn't want to anger her, yet the daggers she tossed him with her eyes stopped him. "Mister Clark, what my partner is trying to say, is… do you know anyone that had a grudge against your grandson? Do you know anyone who wanted to hurt Ian?"

"You mean besides me?"

"Yes, sir," Booth replied, noting that the other man seemed to be goading his partner. The other man watched Brennan with an air of antagonism, and she matched him glare for glare. Booth sat a little straighter in his seat, leaning away from Brennan, hoping to bring the attention back to himself for a second. "Mister Clark, we'd like a list of your grandson's friends, anyplace that he may have hung out, gotten into some trouble. We have his arrest record here… breaking and entering, lewd and lascivious conduct, possession of drugs, and possession of alcohol…"

"Like I said, Mr. Booth. He was no good," Mr. Clark said grumpily, "and it's probably better for society that he's gone." He eyed Brennan one more time as Booth scanned over the reports. "Is that all you needed from me?" He asked.

"Um… yes." Booth nodded. "Yes sir. Thank you for coming in." He stood up as Mr. Clark stood up, and the two men shook hands. The other man mumbled something to himself, and walked around the table for the door, leaving Booth and Brennan alone in the conference room.

B&B

"Dr. B!" Hodgins' voice echoed through the lab, catching more than a few pairs of eyes.

Brennan looked down from the forensic platform to find her colleague standing in the doorway to the Ookie Room, his body all but vibrating with excitement. After checking to make sure Vincent was set to continue the examination on his own, she carefully peeled off her latex gloves, depositing them in the trash as she walked across the lab toward Hodgins.

"You found something," it was more a statement than a question.

A mass of tight curls bobbed up and down and he gestured to the elaborate soil filtration setup he'd been working on. Three tall, rectangular containers spanned four tables and each contained five filtration screens that refined the soil as it traveled downward.

"This is the soil from the grave, extending two feet down from where we found the body," Hodgins explained, pointing to the first container. "Next we've got about a square foot sample from the access road half a mile away. And this," he moved to the third container, tapping on the glass, "came from a large pile of loosely packed soil half a yard from the creek bed, near the body."

"Most likely from where the killers dug the grave," she posited, picturing the geography in her mind.

"That was my thought," Hodgins bubbled. "It was spread thinner so that it didn't stand out as a mound of dirt, but the fallen snow highlighted the differences clear as day. I'm running everything through the mass spec, but it's a good bet this soil matches the soil in the grave, minus the acid."

"Have you found anything significant in the soil besides the wallet?" Brennan questioned him.

Hodgins face broke into a huge grin, "The first level of screens didn't catch much beyond twigs and some trash, but the second level caught this."

Reaching out with gloved hands, Hodgins opened the small trap door on the second level of the third container and withdrew something no larger than a postage stamp. The Ookie Room lights flashed against a metallic surface and Brennan could see it was a pin.

"Not just any pin," Hodgins was quivering with excitement, "a pledge pin. A pledge pin from the Alpha Sigma Sigma fraternity at Buchanan College in York. And get this: the frat house is literally right in our victim's back yard."

B&B

Booth stepped into the interrogation room amidst a shoving match that had just begun between the four college boys that had been waiting for him to arrive. His brow furrowed as he lifted his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. "Alright, alright." He snarled. "Hey!" Booth shouted, and the four boys scrambled for a chair, but not without another shove or two. "Thank you," Booth said, sitting down across from them. He glanced to the glass that separated himself from the psychologist on the other side, and shook his head. "Alright… first give me your names."

Each of the boys spoke their names, and watched the agent look through his notes. "Okay," Booth began. "Eric," he said, looking at the tallest of the bunch, he flipped through the notes, "looks like you've been pretty busy this semester."

"Yeah," he said, chuckling as he glanced to his friends as if looking for some kind of guidance.

"Underage drinking… Driving while intoxicated… You're setting a great example for the other pledges here," Booth said, scanning over the documents. Sweets' voice was buzzing in his ear with questions to ask, and Booth just ignored them for the moment.

"You know…," the kid lifted one shoulder lazily, "school's okay but you gotta have fun too, right?"

"Mm…" Booth nodded, looking over the folder. "Michael Darrow," he said, looking at the papers, "This is your fourth year as a sophomore?"

"I'm on the seven year program," The second kid spoke up, laughing as his friends laughed.

"Right." Booth nodded. "Well… according to the evidence that we've gathered… you guys might be looking at something more along the lines of the 'twenty years to life' program."

"Uh, what?" The third boy, identified as Peter Brock spoke up.

"Ian Clark," Booth said, sliding the mug shot of the boy across the table.

"I've never seen that kid before in my life," Eric said, crossing his arms across his chest. "You guys?"

"Sorry, we have a lot of parties…erm… events and…"

"Fundraisers," Michael spoke up.

"Right, fundraisers." The other three nodded in response.

"Alright… well, do any of you recognize this kid?"

"No."

"Is he dead?" The fourth and quietest boy said softly, looking down at the picture.

"Hey, we didn't kill anybody," Peter replied. His voice was loud and defensive, and Booth's glare calmed him immediately.

Booth sighed, sitting back in his chair. Sweets was still talking in his earpiece, telling Booth what to ask. "Well if you would just get in here," Booth snapped, looking over toward the window. The four boys stopped jabbering and watched the agent. Booth sighed, and stood up. "Stay sitting down," he said sternly, "I will be right back."

Booth stomped out of the room. "I swear to God, if my child turned out like that…" He was muttering as he swung open the door to the observation room. Sweets jumped at the sight and sound of Booth's entrance, gasping. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"I'm trying to help you with the interrogation, give you some pointers, advice…" Sweets defended.

"Well, what I need is for you to be in that room with me, not sitting in here drinking your mocha frappe-latino… or whatever."

"It's an Americano."

"I don't care what it is. If you want in on the interrogation, then you need to be in the interrogation room, with me," Booth replied.

"I don't know, Booth. I'm just not sure I should get so involved in the cases. Maybe it would just be better if I stay in the background, do the observing, and not get so much face time with the suspects."

"What the hell is wrong with you, Sweets? You've never been afraid of getting your hands dirty before. It's time to get back on the horse… ruffle some feathers. No more of this post dramatic stress disorder, Sweets. I need you in there."

Sweets eyebrows lifted.

"Shut up," Booth said, holding the door open. "Are you coming with me, or not?"

After a moment or two of staring one another down, Booth could see Sweets' chest puff a bit with pride. "That a boy," Booth nodded, watching Sweets grit his teeth and set his cup down, as he walked through the doorway and led Booth back to the interrogation room.

The four kids jumped when Sweets entered the room, the look of surprise evident. "Alright," Sweets said, slamming his fist down on the table. "I want you," he said, pointing at Eric, "to tell me right now… have you ever met this kid?"

"No. I mean, I don't remember him," Eric said, a little nervous about the glare that Sweets was sending in his direction. "We have a lot of parties… a lot of kids come down, underage, locals… if they pay the cover, they can come in. It's no big deal."

"Yeah? Well something happened at your frat house about six months ago. A party, or maybe a hazing… things got a little out of hand?" Booth asked. "Because this kid was found dead in the woods not far from campus," he said, slamming down the picture of the body. "And this… was found on him," he said, showing them the picture of the pledge pin. "So tell me now that you don't recognize him."

"We don't!" Peter exclaimed, clearly rattled by the two men.

Eric, Michael and Peter looked defiant, angry. It was the fourth boy, Scott, that seemed the most rattled. He was quiet, keeping his eyes on the table.

"Scott," Sweets said, noting that Scott seemed to be the weakest of the four. He seemed to be hiding something. "Do you know this kid, Scott? Do you know Ian?"

"I saw him around." He shrugged. "He lived in the neighborhood, he'd been to a couple of parties."

"And six months ago?" Booth asked.

Scott looked up at him and shrugged. "Six months ago, we stopped seeing him around. I swear. We had nothing to do with it."

Booth stared him down for several moments, wondering if he would get the kid to flinch, nothing. He turned to Sweets, who was equally convinced, and watched the psychologist shake his head.

"They're telling the truth," Sweets said, as he and Booth both collided into yet another dead end.

* * *

><p>There was a warm eagerness in the room, an unspoken excitement that seemed to crackle in the air like electricity all around them. Booth held Brennan's hand, flexing his fingers again and again while his left knee bounced of its own accord. "Booth, you don't have to be so nervous."<p>

"I'm not nervous." He said, starting to pull his hand from hers, she grasped it tightly.

"It's not going to hurt me. It is simply sound waves pulsed into my abdomen to render an image on a screen of the baby." She explained.

"I'm not nervous about the ultrasound, Bones," he said, his voice clearly on edge, he noticed that a mother or two had looked in his direction. "It's the case."

"The Clark case." She nodded, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

"Yes." He sighed. "I just don't understand it. Those frat boys don't know anything, the grandfather..."

"Would make a perfect suspect." Brennan interrupted. Booth gave her a sideways look.

"You really didn't like that guy."

"No, I did not," she shook her head. "He acted as if that boy deserved to die. He had no care for him. It's no wonder Ian had turned to a life of crime. If he had a role model who had cared for him, he probably wouldn't have ended up in a shallow grave in the woods."

The people beside them were giving them sideways glances and he cleared his throat, "Maybe the waiting room isn't the best place to talk about this."

But Brennan pushed on, "You said one of the boys you interrogated had seen him around. Perhaps he would remember if Ian had left with someone that night."

"I get the feeling that those boys wouldn't know their ass from a hole in the ground," Booth grunted. Brennan looked to him, and he shook his head. "Don't...Nevermind."

Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the nurse, smiling her overly happy grin. "Temperance Brennan," she called.

Brennan nodded and stood up, reflexively grabbing Booth's hand in the process. Without another word about the case, the two followed the nurse to one of the examination rooms.

Brennan was handed a hospital gown, and Booth stopped awkwardly in the doorway. "You can come in, Booth. It's fine."

"I just… I wanted to give you some privacy," He replied with a warm smile.

She leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his lips, looking up into his eyes. Their unspoken conversation was enough to make his feet move, and he entered the room with her. She closed the door behind her, and Booth turned his back, allowing her to change into the gown quickly. She stepped forward and took his hand, sending him turning toward her again. He leaned his forehead down, and rested it on hers.

"You seem nervous again."

"No." He shook his head slightly, his voice low. "Not nervous."

The technician came in, greeting them with a warm smile and a stream of information about what they were going to be looking for. The expectant parents nodded, neither one saying anything. The lights were dimmed and Brennan flinched involuntarily as the gel was squeezed onto her abdomen, relaxing when she realized it was warm, and actually quite pleasant.

Brennan wasn't sure which one of them gasped first as the blackness on the screen resolved into a tiny, but very discernible, human form. The scientist in her instantly began cataloging body parts, comparing what their baby looked like compared to where she knew they should be developmentally. Those thoughts were quickly overwhelmed, however, with an unexplainable rush of love and amazement that this was really happening. That she was really going to be a mother and Booth was the father. She felt Booth's hand squeeze hers tightly, his voice asking with quiet wonder if the four moving chambers on the screen was the heart. Brennan nodded and their eyes met for a brief moment before becoming enraptured once more with the fuzzy image.

Their moment was shattered by the ringing of his phone, and he closed his eyes for a moment to gather his patience. He dropped a kiss on Brennan's nose and sighed as he brought the phone to his ear. "Booth." He listened for a moment, and Brennan could see the anger in his features. "Are you serious? Alright. I'll be right there," he said, hanging up the phone. "We have to go," Booth said abruptly. "There was a break in at the lab on the college campus, and they think it's related to the murder."

"Booth, I'm a little indisposed at the moment," she pointed out.

"Right," he said, staring at her for a moment, trying to figure out what to do.

"Just go, I'll be okay."

"No, Bones. I can't leave you here. This is for both of us," Booth said, watching her shake her head.

"It's alright, Booth. It's just a check-up to make sure things are going okay. They won't be able to tell us the sex of the baby or anything. All that's left is for them to take measurements and I can tell you thus far that our baby is well within the acceptable norms. It'll be okay. I'll have Angela pick me up."

He paused, "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," she nodded. "Just go… the sooner we solve this case, the better."

Booth took a step back toward the door. "I'm serious, Bones. If this isn't…"

"Just go, Booth!" she exclaimed, watching him flash her a smile as he disappeared out the door. She let out a sigh and started to turn, when the door opened again. She turned to see his head popping into the room.

"Put it on a dvd, we'll watch it later," he smiled, watching her brow furrow. "I love you."

"I love you," she replied, and watched him disappear out the door once again.

* * *

><p>Booth stepped into the college laboratory amidst the techs that were on the scene. He nodded as he flashed his badge, and stepped inside amidst the broken vials and beakers that littered the floor. He sighed. "Alright, someone tell me what happened."<p>

"The professor for the evening class came in to the lab and the place had been ransacked," the campus police officer said, looking around at the mess.

"So, chemicals on the floor, broken glass," Booth nodded. "You thought it would be a good idea to stand around and breathe in the fumes, gotcha," he said sarcastically.

"That's the thing, Agent Booth," the tech said, looking around. "These vials weren't filled with chemicals. They were filled with colored water."

"What?" Booth asked, glancing to the tech. "What kind of lab is this?" Booth asked, walking with the tech into the hallway, he continued writing in his notebook.

"Chemistry, sir," a passing student said, stopping to glance into the room. "What happened?" He asked, adjusting his glasses on his nose, he looked back to the agent.

"Nothing to worry about," Booth replied. "Keep moving along." Booth turned and looked into the room. "I have no idea what this means. Just… gather up the evidence, sweep the room for prints and send the shards of glass to the squints. Maybe they can figure out what was in the vials before they were smashed and filled with water, and if it matches the acid used on the body then we at least have something to go on. Otherwise, we've got nothing," Booth said, shoving his notebook into his pocket. "If they're linked, we're getting a warrant for any computer those frat boys have touched in the past year, and find out who has a key to this damn lab," he exclaimed. Turning from the scene, he made his way quickly down the hallway.

B&B

It was late, and Booth was on edge, staring over the shoulder of the intern. "Did you find anything yet?"

"Not since the last time you asked, Agent Booth," Vincent said, glancing warily at the agent. This was where he would typically rattle off a fact or two about fingerprints, or the origins of the cotton swab. Instead, he kept quiet against the watchful gaze of the FBI agent hanging over his shoulder.

"There has to be traces of whatever was in these jars, fingerprints… something."

"Well," Vincent paused and he swore he heard a growl from the agent. "There are several fingerprints on the vials, Agent Booth. While the lab was a contained environment, it was a classroom. Nearly one hundred students a day would enter and exit that lab, and it will be nearly impossible to determine which fingerprints were the most recent."

"Well, figure out a way," Booth snapped.

"Booth, let Vincent go home," Brennan said from behind him. "We have tomorrow."

Booth turned, and could immediately tell that she was exhausted. He felt guilty for leaving the ultrasound, and though she hadn't said anything to him about it, he could tell that she was upset about it. He glanced to Vincent, and back to the vials, and then back to Brennan. "Fine," he said, trying to keep up his frustrated exterior. "Get some sleep, maybe we'll find something in the morning," he said with a resigned sigh.

Vincent nodded his head, and sent Brennan a grateful smile, turning his attention back to the evidence as he listened to the couple leave the room quietly.

B&B

"Give me something," Cam begged as she entered Hodgin's lair. It was ten in the morning, but she was desperate. "Anything."

"Attack of the hormonal anthropologist, I presume?" Hodgins guessed with a wry smile.

"And her alpha male keeper," the pathologist gave a heavy sigh. "Actually, I think Brennan is breathing down Booth's neck and he's just passing along the favor."

"Lucky us," Hodgins muttered.

"Yeah well according to Turner he's turning the heat up at the FBI too, so let's find something before one of them blows a gasket, okay?"

"Right," Hodgins turned to all of the soil evidence and waved a hand between that and the table of broken glass that Vincent was analyzing. "Pick your poison."

Cam looked between the glass and the dirt, and nodded her head. "It looks like Vincent has that under control," she said. "So what do we have here?"

The two scientists fixed their attention on the three containers, eyes searching for anything of worth within the layers of soil. Hodgins felt like he'd been doing nothing but staring at soil for the last 48 hours and while normally he didn't mind, his eyes were strained and he could sense the slight tendrils of a migraine beginning to threaten.

Cam, meanwhile, hadn't seen a good night's sleep in far too long and right now she felt far too old to be the mother of an infant and conductor of the perpetual three-ring circus that was the Jeffersonian. Whatever hopes she had that her job would get easier once Booth and Brennan got together were shot to hell when Brennan got pregnant and, in Angela's colorful verbiage "whoremonal." Most days Brennan managed to keep a fairly good lid on her emotions but when she was tired or frustrated she slipped and they all paid the price. The pathologist didn't know what had transpired between the couple the night before to put Brennan in such a funk this morning but she figured the sooner they got to the bottom of this case, the better.

"Is that just a reflection on the jar?" Cam squinted, peering closer at a clod of soil on the top level of the middle case.

"Where?" Hodgins stepped closer as well, blue eyes sweeping the area back and forth.

Rather than try and explain something she wasn't sure she was seeing anyway, Cam donned a pair of gloves and carefully opened the trap door. The odd reflection of light that had caught her eye was still visible through the open door and she knew she'd found something.

"Gotcha," she muttered, lifting the delicate mess up as carefully as she could and setting it into a nearby evidence dish.

"It's your garden variety mud ball," Hodgins frowned, unimpressed.

"But this," Cam countered, grabbing a nearby water bottle and gently squirting the clod, "is not."

Hodgins let out a low whistle as the water sluiced off, revealing what was hidden beneath, "It's a contact lens."

Suddenly, they were interrupted by the sound of Vincent's triumphant tone across the platform. He had found something, and was claiming victory.

"Oh, Vincent… you can't just let victory be ours, can you?" Hodgins said with a close lipped smile. He put the contact lens in a Petri dish and covered it, and he and Cam made their way across the platform to the intern. They watched Vincent as he held up a piece of glass, and pointed at the screen.

"Most of these vials were filled with colored water, or just water… perhaps they never had chemicals in them at all ever, but several had been filled with hydrochloric acid at one point, and replaced with water. They were labeled as acid, but were improperly labeled."

"So…?" Hodgins said, not quite getting what Vincent was saying.

"What I mean, is that someone wanted the professor to think that these vials had hydrochloric acid in them. They could have sat unused for weeks, and nobody would have known the difference. Hydrochloric acid comes in different grades, strengths, and sometimes its packaging is evident in the acid itself. I compared the acid on the vials from the lab, and discovered that not only was it the same grade of acid… but at one point, it was stored in the same room," Vincent said proudly.

"Alright then," Cam said abruptly, peeling her gloves off. "I'll go tell Booth to start looking at suspects who wear contacts, and have access to the lab." She turned to Hodgins. "You figure out whatever else you can and report to Dr. Brennan."

The bug man, however, was no long paying her any mind but instead was focused solely on the lens in the Petri dish, muttering at it to 'come to Papa' as he pulled open the lid. Rolling her eyes, Cam left him to his work, sending a prayer out to the universe that this was the break that would calm the restless natives and infuse some tranquility into the chaos. At least for this case.

B&B

Angela stepped warily into Brennan's office, catching the glimpse of a glare that quickly switched to an exhausted expression. "Please don't tell me that you also think that my emotions have clouded my judgment," Brennan said immediately.

Angela stopped, lifted an eyebrow. "No." She tilted her head. "Why?"

"Nothing." She sighed, looking back at her computer screen, she rubbed her eye with the heel of her hand.

"Sweetie, are you okay?" Angela asked, stepping toward her friend's desk, she noticed that she was concentrating on something on her computer screen.

"I'm fine." She nodded, looking up at Angela. "Have we found any more evidence?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Angela said, walking around her friend's desk, Brennan reached forward and switched off her monitor, turning around to face Angela. "Sweetie, talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about." She said, avoiding eye contact for a moment, she sighed. "Booth and I got into an argument this morning." She said, looking up at Angela. Tears were threatening to fall, but she was doing her best to hold them back.

"Bren, you guys are always arguing. It's your process."

"Not like this, Ange," she whispered.

"Come on, out with it." Angela said, crouching down before her friend, she made it clear that she didn't need to make an announcement of her frustrations, and that she was there to support her. "What's going on?" She asked.

Brennan sighed, turned toward her screen, and flicked on the monitor. The monitor was filled with a black and white image, static on the screen, there was no movement. With a click of the mouse, the object on the screen began to move. Brennan reached forward and touched the volume on the speakers. There was a soft whooshing sound. Angela was silent. She knew what was on the screen, and she had no words.

"Booth was called away during the ultrasound," Brennan whispered.

"You're upset he missed it?"

"He only missed part of it, but yes. Mostly, I'm concerned about how our jobs may impact our impending parenthood. What if he - or I – are forced to curtail other important moments with our child because of a case?"

"Did you talk to him about that?"

"No." Brennan clicked the mouse and turned off the screen. She turned and faced Angela. "I told him to go. It is unfair of me to feel disappointment about this, if it was my idea for him to leave."

"It's unfair, but it's also normal. It's natural to be disappointed," Angela whispered. "Talk to him, Sweetie. I'm sure that he is feeling pretty disappointed himself."

"You think so?"

"I know Booth, Sweetie. You know Booth," Angela said with a knowing glance. Brennan's lips curled into a grateful smile, just as they heard the rapping of Hodgins' knuckles on the door of her office. He announced his entrance excitedly, and filled both of them in on the newest evidence.

B&B

Brennan sent the new evidence to Booth immediately and at Vincent's suggestion she urged Booth to bring in all of the people who had access to the lab as well. Booth replied that he'd get the warrant issued to bring them in and they agreed to meet at the Hoover in an hour with the compiled evidence. She spent that time gathering the pieces of the puzzle from each member of her team, taking the time to thank them for their effort before sending them all home for a well-deserved sleep.

Secretly, she wished she could afford that luxury as well, but she could not, so she treated herself to a nonfat soy latte, compartmentalized her emotions surrounding Booth and the ultrasound, and concentrated on the task at hand. Before she knew it, her phone's reminder alert was going off and she loaded up her bags and headed out.

Fifteen minutes later she and Booth were elbow deep in files, but a clearer picture was beginning to emerge.

A soft knock sounded on his office door and Turner's head popped in. "They're here," she informed the partners.

"Everyone?" Booth asked, waiting for confirmation about the special request he'd added on at the last minute.

Turner nodded, "Lance wants to know where you want him."

"Observation lounge," came the reply with a slight smile. "Bones and I can handle this one and he can holler if he needs us."

The young agent gave a smile of her own and gave a small wave before leaving.

"Ready, Bones?"

Brennan nodded and they were off.

* * *

><p>"Thanks for coming in on such short notice," Booth smiled at the group gathered in the interrogation room, where a longer table and several more chairs had been brought in to accommodate them all. "Please," he invited, pulling Brennan's chair out for her, "have a seat."<p>

Professor James Morgan and his four lab assistants complied, tension hanging over them like a lead balloon.

While Brennan remained as prim and proper as always, Booth leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs and loosening his tie a notch for effect while appearing to glance lazily at the top file. "So, you all have unrestricted access to the school lab?" he asked nonchalantly.

Professor Morgan nodded, "Yes. Ms. Stafford and Mr. Hubbard assist the undergrads while Misters McKinley and Muir oversee our graduate students."

"Aren't you two grad students yourselves?" The agent directed the question at Muir and his partner, feigning ignorance.

Brennan was the one who stepped in to clarify, "It's not uncommon for exceptionally brilliant students to serve in that capacity." She offered the two young men a smile, "And after reviewing their academic achievements I would say their advanced positions are well-earned."

McKinley and Muir exchanged a smile of their own at the anthropologist's high praise and the tension in the room dissipated swiftly. Booth and Brennan continued their questioning in a similar manner; acting for all the world as if they were only interested in the assistants' roles within the lab, as well as the lab's safety and security protocols.

All of the other scientists in the room were familiar with Temperance Brennan and were well aware of her expertise. It was quickly apparent they deferred to her when given the choice.

Brennan naturally began with some easy questions, focusing not on the evidence, but treating the group as if they were innocent victims of a horrific crime. Booth sat silently at his partner's side, ignoring the observations he was being fed from Sweets.

"I have a couple of questions that may seem a little odd, but are pertinent to the investigation," Brennan began. "Are any of you currently pledging a fraternal organization associated with the University?"

Four loud scoffs sounded simultaneously.

"I thought not," she said primly. "Also, and this is just a standard question: Were any of you on campus at the time of the most recent break in?"

Each student recited their whereabouts for the past two days, and with a subtle glance to observation room, Brennan continued. There was obvious corroboration in at least two of the students' replies. "And I assume that you all live off-campus."

The answers were all in the affirmative.

"Are any of you familiar with the Alpha Sigma Sigma fraternal organization?" Brennan asked, straightening as she eyed each student coldly.

"Assholes," Hubbard muttered under his breath, eliciting a smirk from his fellows.

"So you'd say that you held a grudge against these gentlemen, Mr. Hubbard?"

"Gentlemen?" Hubbard scoffed. "Hardly. And grudges are for juveniles. We simply don't associate with their kind."

There was a knock at the door of the interrogation room, and Brennan gave Booth a side glance. He stood up and walked to the door, opened it slightly and mumbled something to Turner. She answered in the affirmative and he closed the door. He turned back around and sat down beside his partner.

They paused for a moment, and Brennan straightened in her seat, her face was a mask as she looked down at the folder in front of her. She pulled a photo from the folder. "Have any of you ever been to this location?" She slid a photo of the fraternity house across the table.

Each of the students shook their heads and all of them kept their eyes on the photo.

"So you've never been to any parties here, or passed by on your way to the convenience store, or even rode past it on your bicycles, in your cars?"

"No." Hubbard stated curtly. Stafford also shook her head, and the other two boys as well. McKinley had a gleam in his eye that kept Booth on edge, and he had recognized it as hubris from the moment he stepped into the room.

Brennan nodded, pulling another photo from the folder, she slid it across the table toward the four students. "Does this particular object mean anything to any of you?" She asked.

"Pledge pin," Muir spoke up with a casual shrug of his shoulders. He looked closer at the photo and pressed his finger on the bridge of his glasses. "There are tons of them around campus. This one's Alpha Sigma Sigma's if that's what you're asking."

"Why?" McKinley asked.

"Just a routine question." She shrugged. She glanced to Booth and he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't have any more questions. Do you?"

"Um...nope," Booth said, shrugging his shoulders.

"So we can go now?" Hubbard asked brusquely.

"You may," Brennan nodded. "As may Dr. Morgan and Ms. Stafford."

The implication was crystal clear and once again, the tension in the room swelled.

"Might I ask what you plan to accuse my assistants of?" Morgan spoke crisply.

"Why not ask them yourselves?" Booth suggested. "Ask them if they've never been to the Alpha Sigma Sigma house, why I have a witness who can place them there six months ago on the day Ian Clark disappeared. Ask them why I have their fingerprints not only a vial containing the same concentration of hydrochloric acid that Ian's body was doused with after he was tossed into a shallow grave, but also two separate door frames inside the Alpha Sigma Sigma fraternity house."

Brennan leaned forward, adding her own questions the list, "Ask Mr. Muir here why he insists on wearing eyeglasses that are very obviously a minimum of ten years old when his prescription has changed twice since then. Ask Mr. McKinley how he could have possibly been with Mr. Muir at a symposium when the lab was broken into, if Agent Booth spoke with him in the hallway yesterday when the FBI was called in."

If Dr. Morgan's face was a shade paler than it had been a moment earlier, the two men in question were like specters and as silent as the grave.

"Dr. Morgan, are you familiar with the Leopold and Loeb case?" Brennan asked softly.

Booth's face scrunched in confusion, but he let his partner finish her diatribe. He had learned through the years that she learned from experience. Her methods were based not only on science, but the knowledge that despite evolution, history tends to repeat itself.

Understanding dawned in the older man's eyes and he nodded somberly, and he watched the scientist explain her theory.

Brennan turned her attention back to Booth for a moment and then to the two students, who watched her unflinchingly. "In May of 1924, two foolish young men decided that they wanted to commit the perfect murder. They thought that by kidnapping a wealthy boy, they could extort a ransom from the boy's father, kill the boy, and escape with the money, unscathed," Brennan said, standing up. She preferred to stand while she was teaching, it increased the blood flow to her brain and kicked in a little more self-confidence as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"While extremely intelligent, these two young men made several key errors in the execution of their crime. Much like you two did. Like Leopold and Loeb, you two gentlemen never planned on letting that boy live. He was your victim. Perhaps you hunted him, or just picked him at random; that we cannot prove. However, we can prove that the shallow grave that was dug for your victim, was done days before the actual murder. We can prove that you, Mr. Muir, were in the woods that night, and we have testimony from three sources that say that Ian Clark was seen leaving the party with you, Mr. McKinley," Brennan said, keeping her voice low and even.

She went on, "Something you didn't count on was the fact that Ian had ingested a combination of uppers and downers at the party, along with the copious amounts of alcohol he'd imbibed. Perhaps his violent seizures frightened you, or maybe he just passed out. But the truth is, it was the blunt force trauma to the boy's skull that killed him. The fact that the grave was waiting for him made it very clear that the murder was pre-meditated. We can prove that you then dropped his body into the lackluster grave, doused him with acid, and covered his body with dirt. You planted the pin in the vicinity and through analysis of the activity on the fraternity boy's computers, we found you hacked in and planted evidence there to incriminate them as well." Brennan paused. "Some of these ploys might have worked had you been just a little more covert in your operation."

"Yeah, getting caught by that couple making out… must have really harshed your mellow," Booth said, getting a raised eyebrow from Brennan. "Sorry, go on, Bones," he nodded.

"As for the ransom, Ian was probably alive when you made the call, but when he died, you had no bargaining chip, and you panicked," Brennan said softly. "Maybe you were spooked by something unexpected; that whoever you'd seen in the shadows had spotted the two of you walking alongside the road that night. But the real evidence - the last nail in the coffin - was the contact lens found at the scene of the crime," Brennan said, leaning in slightly, she rested her hands on the table. "It was an exact match to your prescription, Mr. Muir," she said, lifting an eyebrow. "Astigmatism…" She said, leaning in slightly, "and if you look at just the right angle at your right eye… there is evidence of a blood vessel puncture." She looked to Booth. "Most likely caused some kind of irritation due to a foreign object in the eye," she said, watching the boy sit back quickly.

Dr. Morgan was speechless, and there was only a moment's pause before the door behind them swung open with a soft snick, revealing Turner with a pair of agents ready to take McKinley and Muir into custody. Stafford and Hubbard bowed their heads in silence and were admitted out, free and clear, while the rest of the room remained as if they'd been frozen in time.

Dr. Morgan suddenly shook his head as if to clear it, looking Booth and Brennan square in the eye as he rose to leave, "I'm sorry."

Brennan felt a small pang of empathy in her heart and nodded, offering the man a sad smile she knew would be of little consolation.

"We could've been great, Doc," McKinley spoke up abruptly. "We should've been."

"Greatness," the old professor eyed his students as if to impart one final lesson, "is never achieved. It's bestowed."

B&B

Booth walked into the apartment, and immediately noticed how quiet it was. The only sound that seemed to fill the apartment was a low, unidentifiable sound that seemed out of place. "Bones?" he called. After the interrogation, he had sent her home to rest while he finished booking the co-conspirators.

There was no answer to his call, and though he typically would have been slightly concerned about her whereabouts, he reminded himself that she should be resting. "Bones, are you..." He turned the corner and stopped at the sight before him.

Brennan lay curled on the couch, a blanket tucked around her as she lay on her side. Her hand was grasping the remote, poised to take action. Beside her on the couch sit a still full bowl of popcorn waiting to be eaten. However, instead of her eyes focusing on the television, they were closed. A gentle snore whispered between her lips with each breath, and he was left breathless for a moment at the pure, unadulterated peacefulness of the moment.

It was the sound that filled the room that brought his attention to the television set. A black and white image filled the screen, and the movements were jerky and irregular. It was like a jumping bean, or butterfly in a jar. He tilted his head and watched the screen, the video playing constantly. It looped over and over, his eyes blind to the statistics that covered the top and bottom of the screen. Another movement or two, and it became obvious to him what he was watching.

His heart leapt into his throat. The sound in the room was the baby's heartbeat, and the image on the screen was their child.

He turned his head to Brennan, noting immediately that her eyes were open, and she watched his reaction. His eyes were wide with wonder, and she watched his face light up with a grin. "I'm home," he whispered.

She offered a smile of her own and sat up carefully, patting the cushion beside her. She said nothing as he sat down next to her. She simply leaned to the side and rested her head in his lap. "Bones?" he said softly.

Grasping his free hand in hers, she gave it a gentle squeeze, then set the bowl of popcorn between them as they both turned their attention back to the television screen. "Shh..." she spoke softly, but with a secretive smile. "This is my favorite part."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Join us again next week when another member of the team disappears without a trace forcing Booth, Brennan and the squints on a race against the clock to bring them home again in When The Wind Blows by Rynogeny.<strong>_


	4. When the Wind Blows

Bones Season 7.5x04: When the Wind Blows ~ Written by Rynogeny

Cass Thomas had been a social worker for twenty-three years - a healthy run for someone in a profession that regularly chewed up and spit out the eager and innocent. She attributed her longevity to having spent the last twelve of those years working with prospective adoptive parents. She loved children, loved families, and loved doing her part to take care of the former and create the latter.

She was also good at detecting bullshit, and had a low tolerance for it.

She hadn't yet made up her mind about the couple currently settled in the comfortable chairs on the other side of her desk. This was her second meeting with Jack Hodgins and Angela Montenegro and while their filled-in questionnaire was in front of her, there was no substitute for forming her own opinions based on direct contact.

She tapped on it and looked at them thoughtfully. "I've read through your answers to the questionnaire. You were quite thorough in your responses. But I'd like for you to elaborate on some things for me." She sat back, studying them. "Tell me why you want to adopt."

They glanced at one another and Jack gave his wife a slight smile. Angela turned back to Cass. "We both grew up largely alone. Happy and loved, but …there's something about a big noisy family, having their fights and differences but sticking together that we want."

Her husband was slower in his answer, his response measured. "We see the worst of people in our work. People who've been thrown away. We do what we can for them, but it's never enough, not by the time we get to them. If we can provide love and a home for a kid, help them while they're still breathing…we want to do that." He glanced at Angela, who smiled at him.

Cass liked the dynamic between them. Their answers to the question had diverged in different directions, but they seemed very much in sync. She glanced at her notes. "There's nothing in your file that indicates an inability to have biological children. Are you planning to do so?"

"Yes," Angela said without hesitation. "But we have time for that and there are kids who need a home right now."

"Opening your home – and lives – to a child can be a stressful experience. That's true even with biological children but adopted children often have special needs, emotional if not physical, that can stress a marriage, stress lives in ways often difficult to imagine beforehand. A solid extended family support structure can help with that, but neither of you have family in the area, at least not that you're close to. Your jobs also appear to be quite stressful at times – I follow the news – so what kind of support, if any, will you have and be able to offer a child?"

Jack looked thoughtful, but the question plainly pissed off Angela, and for a moment, temper sparked in her eyes.

When she answered, her tone was calm, though she was clearly still annoyed. "The fact that my dad doesn't live in DC doesn't mean we're not close. I probably see him more often than many people who live down the road from their parents. And if I needed him, he'd do his best to support me, given his schedule. But to say we don't have local family is to ignore the point of adoption because we have family here – they're just not blood relations."

Jack cleared his throat. "Ang and I met through our work. We're very close to several of our co-workers."

Cass picked up a sheaf of papers. "Your references are an FBI psychologist, a federal prosecutor and Dr. Temperance Brennan, who noted that an FBI agent assisted her in filling out the form. Those are the co-workers to which you refer?"

"Along with our boss, Camille Saroyan," Hodgins affirmed. "It's complicated."

"I see that."

"Several of them have been in foster care and Dr. Saroyan is raising an orphaned teenager. They understand unusual families," Angela said.

"So, your colleagues play an important role in your lives. I'd still be interested in knowing how you handle stress, separately and together?"

Slightly annoyed, Angela pursed her lips and looked at Hodgins. "I paint. Jack plays baseball, or racquetball. We unwind with our friends over a meal or a drink – friends who would do anything for us," she noted, her tone once again sharp.

Cass felt her lips twitch. The younger woman was something of a firebrand, clearly loyal to those she loved. She nodded, and then turned to Hodgins. "No hobbies other than baseball?" She looked down, shuffling the papers in their file until she found what she was looking for, and noted the information. "In past years you were quite active amongst conspiracy theorists."

He very nearly winced. She was sure of it. But his answer was thoughtful and confident. "I still believe that all too often, decisions are made by small groups of people that affect all of us, and those decisions go unreported and unacknowledged," he said firmly. "But recently, I've realized that there can be other ways to expose the truth."

"I see." She wondered what, exactly, had changed his mind on that matter, but some things really weren't relevant.

She turned back to a topic that was. "When you have an active case, you can frequently work long hours and there's some risk in your jobs, is there not?" She looked at Jack. "As I said, I follow the news. I remember when you were kidnapped."

"A lot of jobs carry some risk," he noted. "Even someone in a boring job could be hit by a bus." He motioned toward Angela. "And we mostly stay in the lab. It's well protected."

"As to the long hours…" Angela shrugged. "A lot of jobs have that, too, don't they? We can afford good childcare and even when we're working a difficult case, we have down times, where Jack's waiting for a test to run, or I'm waiting for a process to complete or data to compile. We can take turns being with our child and probably benefit from the break ourselves."

It was a good answer.

Cass sat back and looked at them thoughtfully. "Pretend for a moment that you're a child growing up in your home. What's it like?"

"It would be awesome," Jack said immediately with a laugh. "Seriously. I'm into science, Ange's got the art, her dad's got music covered. What a way to grow up."

"And love," Angela said. "Lots of love."

"Love to spare, baby," Jack added as he gazed at the wife that never failed to amaze him.

B&B

Cam braced herself as the boom of thunder followed the strobe effect of the lightning; automatically listening for an indication that the storm had awakened Macon. At seven months, he mostly slept through the night.

"I'll check on him," Paul said. "I need to go to the bathroom, anyway." With a quick kiss, he crossed the room, and started up the stairs.

Cam glanced at the baby monitor on the table next to her. He wasn't awake – if so, they'd have heard him. But if that crack of thunder had disturbed him, it might be possible to sooth him back to sleep before he was completely awake.

She put her head back against the couch with a sigh. She treasured these quiet evenings with Paul, more so because between their two schedules, they were rare. But more often than not, these nights ended with one or both of them asleep by 9PM.

She yawned and looked at her phone, considering whether or not to check on Michelle. Before she could do so, however, another crash of thunder hit, accompanied by wind that rattled windows.

Okay, she might as well go upstairs. That last one would definitely wake the baby.

She was nearly to the top of the stairs when another crash startled her, the sound of something large hitting metal outside. Since it was followed by the shrieking of the car alarm, it wasn't hard to guess what the metal was.

The bathroom door – at the top of the stairs – was closed. "Paul? I think a tree just came down. I'm going to check on it."

"Okay. I'll be out in a moment," was Paul's muffled response. "Macon was fine, by the way."

Some nights, a hiccup from the other end of the house would wake him; tonight he was going to sleep through the house coming down around him.

Not that she was complaining.

She stopped and got a flashlight and jacket before opening the door and slipping outside in the wind. "Damn it," she said, surveying the large tree limb positioned across the front of her SUV. She'd known it was going to storm. Why the hell hadn't she put it in the garage?

Her mind on cataloging the damage, she started toward the driveway, flicking the flashlight back and forth. She didn't notice the van parked two houses down, nor the figures standing still and quiet in the shadow of the house.

B&B

Half surprised that she hadn't returned before he finished his business in the bathroom, Paul grabbed a light and followed Cam out into the wind and rain. He saw the tree limb immediately, and the damage it had caused. The car alarm was still going off, and he wished he'd brought out the key fob. He didn't see his partner.

Thinking she must be on the other side of the vehicle, he circled it. But there was no sign of her."Cam?" he shouted. "Cam, damn it, where are you?"

He flashed the light around the yard and out into the street. Knowing she wouldn't have gone back into the house without saying something about the tree, he nevertheless sprinted back inside, where he shouted for her again, unconcerned that it might wake their son.

There was no response. In what seemed like just a few short moments, she'd simply vanished into thin air.

* * *

><p>Finally hearing the unmistakable sound of her partner arriving home, Brennan turned from where she'd been preparing a plate for herself to greet him. "You're later than you indicated you would be – I was about to eat without you. Did the storm slow you down?"<p>

Booth stopped pulling at his tie to kiss her. "Yeah – some of the traffic lights are out between here and the Hoover. But I'm late because as I was heading out, I saw Sweets, Turner, and three other agents in a conference room. So I stopped to see what was up." Brennan cocked her head and he continued. "They're sifting through immigration records from around 1990, looking for Sweets' 'Paisley' as we've been calling her. Or two Brits and their daughter, rather."

"I thought we'd already determined that the lack of organized records would make that fruitless?"

"Yeah. Turner kept bugging people at Homeland Security until they gave her access to what they have. It's not much. An old data file from an early computer system that's never been converted – which may or may include all the records from that time period – and thousands of boxes of microfiche. A lot of the paper records from around then were destroyed in a flood in 1998."

"Angela should be able to convert the data, shouldn't she?"

Booth gave her a wry look. "I hope so. That's how Turner convinced them to hand it over to us. It wasn't converted initially because the budget committee wouldn't approve it and since 2001, old records haven't exactly been a priority. If you know someone's name, you can find them in the microfiche – well, in theory – but you can't just say, 'give me a list of everyone who emigrated in one specific year who meets these qualifications."

"If our best chance for success is Angela, what are Turner and the others doing?"

"There's an index of names on the fiche. No other additional information, so no ages or relationships, but they're looking through that index for three people with the same last name. A male name with two female."

"Booth, that's a ridiculous waste of time. Sweets told me that over sixty thousand people emigrated from the United Kingdom every year during the five year period we postulated Paisley and her family arrived."

"Yeah, it's pretty hopeless. But it's all we've got. And having the other agents giving up their time to look is boosting Sweets."

"Their time?"

"Yeah. Since she didn't actually permanently hurt him, tracking down a lone lunatic isn't a priority for the bureau. No OT for it."

A crash of thunder interrupted whatever she was going to say and Brennan frowned as the lights flickered. "This storm is really quite severe."

His phone rang before he could respond. "That's Cam's ring tone," he said, grimacing. "Booth."

Knowing it was late for it any kind of social call, Brennan watched him listen and then saw as a look passed over his face that was more than reaction to a late case. "We're on our way, Paul."

Brennan was moving to get her jacket before he pressed the end call button. "What is it?"

"Cam's missing. The storm knocked a tree down, and she went out to check it. When Paul followed her minutes later, she'd vanished. No sign of her."

"You think it might be the woman who took Sweets."

"I'm trying not to jump to that conclusion, but she didn't drive anywhere and it's not exactly a night to go for a walk around the neighborhood, even assuming she'd do so without telling Paul."

They didn't speak again until they were in the SUV, heading toward Cam's home, sirens and lights blaring. When Booth finished calling the rest of the team, asking them to meet him and Brennan at Cam's house, Brennan offered, "If it is Paisley…she didn't hurt Sweets."

"Drugging him, taking him God knows where, scaring the shit out of him, then drugging him again and dumping him at the monument isn't hurting him?"

"I meant that if it is her and if she's consistent, Cam will more likely be returned physically unharmed."

"Bones, being 'consistent' isn't exactly what psychopaths are known for."

As they pulled up in front of Cam and Paul's house, Booth said, "Looks like Hodgins and Angela are here and Michelle, but I don't see Turner or Sweets' cars yet."

"It's good that Paul called Michelle," Brennan noted, climbing out.

"It's still her home – she's here most weekends and baby sits Macon a lot for them. She just moved out into that shared apartment with some classmates to give Cam and Paul a little privacy."

As they started up the drive, they saw Hodgins crouched, studying the driveway with a high-powered flashlight.

"Anything?" Booth asked the other man.

Hodgins stood, his face grim. "Nothing. Anything that might have been here's been washed out or blown away. There's a footprint over by the house but the rain has made it all but useless."

Booth turned, surveyed the yard, and then shook his head before walking the rest of the way to the door.

In the living room, they found Paul sitting, head bowed, hands loosely draped between his knees. Michelle, her eyes red, was on one side of him, holding a sleeping Macon, while Angela was on the other side, her expression worried.

Paul looked up, rubbed his eyes. "But why? Why would she take Cam if it is this Paisley person? She's not a psychologist."

Booth looked at Angela. "Sweets and Turner?"

"On their way."

He turned back to Paul. "We'll let Sweets address that when he gets here. For now, walk me through what happened. How long was she outside before you realized she was missing?"

Paul's expression was bewildered. "I don't know. Three or four minutes? Five? How long does it take to take a dump? I'd just gone into the bathroom when we heard the tree limb come down. It shook the whole house, set off the car alarm. She went to check it out, I followed her as soon as I finished."

"Did you notice any vehicles in the street?"

He shook his head. "No, but I wasn't thinking about that when I first went out and by the time I checked the road, they'd have been long gone."

Noises behind them announced the arrival of Sweets and Turner. Hodgins followed them in.

"Paisley took her," Sweets said flatly, his eyes hard in a way Booth had never seen before.

"We can't say that for certain," Brennan cautioned.

"She doesn't have her cell phone, correct?" Sweets asked. Paul held it up. "Then there are three options," the younger man said, his voice still flat. "One, she had a sudden urge to go for a walk, without taking her phone, in the worst storm in months without telling Paul where she was going; two, the woman who kidnapped me and has an unhealthy interest in our entire team took her; three, someone else grabbed her in the middle of the storm for reasons unknown. Which of those is most likely?"

"The entire team? I thought she took you to force you to do a psych diagnosis on her?" Paul might not be in law enforcement but he wasn't stupid.

"That was most likely why I was of the highest interest," Sweets agreed. "But it was the documentary on all of us that caught her attention and she accused all of us of being insulated the night of the charity ball. I'd hoped that I was her primary target, but maybe not."

"We still can't rule out something else," Booth said firmly. "We'll investigate all the options." He held up a hand to silence Sweets' protest. "We'll give weight to the Paisley theory but we're not going to skip investigating other angles and miss something." He turned to Hodgins. "Let's do a grid search of the immediate area."

"Cars, or on foot?"

"Cars, for now. Tomorrow morning, we'll canvas the neighborhood; see if anyone remembers seeing anything odd. We'll do that on foot."

"The storm is supposed to have moved out by then," Angela noted.

"If it was Paisley, she must have been parked somewhere, looking for an opportunity to grab her," Turner said quietly. "She didn't have any way of knowing the tree would fall and Cam would be the one to come out and check it."

Paul looked up at that, misery evident. "It could just as easily have been me. If I'd not been in the bathroom-"

"But if it is Paisley, or anyone who wanted Cam specifically, they wouldn't have bothered with you, Paul. They'd have simply taken her some other time," Booth interrupted. "And if it was someone wanting Cam, not a random snatch, they would have had to have parked somewhere to wait. And maybe someone will have noticed that in a way they didn't when Sweets was taken."

Hodgins looked from Angela back to Booth. "We'll go start a search of the neighborhood."

Angela shook her head. "I'd be of better use in the lab, starting the conversion of that data file of immigration records." She nodded toward Turner. "Turner told me about it when they called us."

"We'll help with the search here," Turner said.

"You take our car to the lab," Hodgins said to Angela. "And be careful."

"Sweets." Booth called the other man back as he started to follow his girlfriend. "Think about what happened when Paisley had you, what it might mean for her to have taken Cam."

"I don't often think of anything else these days," Sweets acknowledged ruefully. "But yeah, I'll review it."

Booth turned back to Paul. "Let's go over the sequence of events again. You came home…"

B&B

Booth took another sip of coffee, and closed his eyes for a moment, wishing the jolt of caffeine would hit and wake up his tired brain when a sound at the door alerted him he was no longer alone. Sweets stood there, obviously exhausted and clearly running on even less sleep than Booth.

"Any word from Angela, or the canvassing?"

Booth shook his head. "Angela says the conversion is proceeding but beyond repeating the warning that given its size she doesn't see how the file can be complete, she doesn't know how long it will take. Immigration records from before 2001 are regional and how often those files got sent to DC in the first place is sketchy."

"And we can't even guess the region."

"We don't know how long you were unconscious. Cam said that if it was Xyrem, as Paisley indicated, you were probably out two to four hours, both times. And based on your report, there's every indication of wealth – enough to have flown you somewhere while you were unconscious. She could have Cam any damn where." Booth blew out a breath. "The canvassing of Cam's neighborhood so far been a bust, too. None of the neighbors remember seeing a suspicious vehicle parked anywhere."

"How does that happen? How can anyone be that good or that lucky?" Sweets prowled around the office in a move that was uncharacteristically agitated.

"It's not your fault - you know that, right?"

Sweets stopped pacing and stared at him. "Yeah, I know. Not my first trip around the block with a psychopath, even if she's the first one to have kidnapped me. But still, I'm a trained observer. No one's that perfect at hiding details, hiding clues. So how come I can't come up with something that will ID her?"

"She's not the first nut job we've gone after who started out lucky. We'll catch her."

"It's just frustrating." Sweets dropped into one of the chairs across the desk. "How are Paul and Michelle holding up?"

"Okay. They're in a safe house." Sweets frowned and Booth shrugged. "If it's Paisley, no, there's no evidence to indicate she'd go after a family member, but I think it makes them feel safer. Cam being grabbed outside her own front door spooked them. And if it's not Paisley, they're probably right to be spooked."

Sweets shook his head. "You know it's Paisley. Cam would never have voluntarily left Macon and if it was someone else, there'd have been a ransom demand by now. Or something."

"Yeah, it's looking that way."

Booth's phone rang. He answered it, listened a moment, then said, 'We'll be right there.' Disconnecting, he said, "That was Turner. The committee chair of the Samson Ball is here with another list of the guests."

"And hopefully an explanation for why the first two lists we've seen didn't match and neither one included someone who could be Paisley," Sweets muttered.

Booth and Sweets entered the conference room followed by Turner. Trying somewhat gamely to find what Bones called his charm smile for the woman at the table, Booth said, "Ms. Dowson, thank you for coming in."

Elizabeth Dowson was convinced that being middle-aged was a secret she was successfully keeping from the world. She was wrong but apart from that, Sweets had indicated she wasn't a bad sort and seemed sincerely dedicated to raising money to support foster programs.

"Of course I'd help the Bureau! You do such important work. I'm not sure what our guest list can tell you, though."

She pushed a printout across the table and Booth picked it up as he sat down, barely noting Sweets and Turner exchanging greetings with her. "Ms. Dowson," he interrupted, "Can you explain why this list doesn't match the other two guest lists we've been given?"

She gave him a sunny smile. "I called Sue and Taran after Lance asked me that and we had a little consult. We think that one's complete."

"You think?"

She spread her hands. "So many people attend, you know? We start out with a main list and add to it as we go along. But the committee members will often add people at the last minute." She looked around and beamed at them. "It's so exciting being here like this. Helping you all."

Booth thought of Cam and indulged in a quick fantasy of shoving the list down the woman's throat. "We appreciate your willingness to assist us. So all of you are adding people at the last minute? How does that work from a security point of view? If I remember correctly, there were several members of Congress at the ball?"

She looked at him blankly. "Well, yes. But security's not a concern if the person is someone known to us personally, you understand." Her enthusiasm finally seemed to be waning, to Booth's relief.

"There's no complete list of everyone who was added at the last moment?"

"No. We all added all the names we could remember, but it was months ago. I can't say for certain that everyone who was there is on the list."

"Is it possible she wasn't invited at all?" Sweets asked. "That if someone gave a name of someone on the committee, she'd be allowed in?"

"I'm sure our security is better than that," she responded but the doubt in her voice told Booth it wasn't something she'd thought about overmuch.

Booth exchanged glances with Sweets and Turner. "Thank you for coming in, Ms. Dowson. Agent Turner will escort you out."

After the two women left the room, Sweets said, "It's not really difficult to imagine it working just that way. Psychopaths study people, are good liars."

"You're saying she conned her way into a ball that was attended by senators without actually being on a guest list."

"It's possible. You saw the crowd that night. There were a lot of people there. She could have met up with someone in the parking lot, made nice with them and came in as part of their party. It shouldn't happen but you know it does, or could. And she's a beautiful woman people naturally like. It's not like she has 'psychopath' stamped across her forehead."

"Very good and very lucky," Booth muttered angrily under his breath, thinking about what Sweets had said earlier.

* * *

><p>It was dark and she kept grabbing at half formed thoughts that would flee before she could get a grip on them. Macon. Storm. Paul. Tree.<p>

"Dr. Camille Saroyan. It's time to wake up now." A woman's voice, brisk and matter of fact, tugged Cam further towards consciousness. A light tap on her cheek followed and Cam instinctively turned her face away from it. "There you are. Come now, all the way back."

A click sounded, and the room was flooded with light. Cam winced and blinked, the brightness causing the pounding in her head to triple in intensity. It wasn't difficult to think of a time she'd felt worse – having nearly died by Epps' poison, she could _always _think of a time she'd felt worse – but this was close. Her stomach moved queasily and she shifted, only to have every thought in her head eclipsed by the realization that she was restrained, her arms firmly taped down to the arms of a chair, her ankles similarly bound to the legs.

Training, an ingrained need to be in control of herself if not the situation, kept her from struggling too much once she realized how tight the tape was. "Untie me."

"I'm sorry," said the voice, not sounding particularly apologetic. "I can't do that yet."

Her face seemed to swim into view, alerting Cam to the fact that she wasn't completely clear headed yet. And she needed to be. She blinked, forced herself to concentrate, to put aside the stabbing in her head caused by whatever they'd drugged her with – Xyrem, if they were being consistent.

The woman in front of her was what might be termed classically beautiful. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a chignon, emphasizing the bone structure of her face, which was dominated by large blue eyes. Her suit matched those eyes exactly, enhancing the effect of her coloring.

She looked every inch the professional, successful businesswoman but Cam had to always remember, this woman was mad as a hatter.

Paisley.

"You took Dr. Sweets."

"That was me," she said happily. "How is Lance? Or Dr. Sweets, rather. I did enjoy our time together."

"He's fine. Busy."

Something that might have been annoyance glinted in the other woman's eyes for a moment but she just shrugged and smiled. "His role in my game is done. Now it's your turn!"

Desperately trying to get her bearings, Cam looked around, noting the setting for the first time. No windows, a drain in the floor, cinder block walls – a row large of large drawers in one of those walls – a sink, and tools on a side counter. If the drawers, the drain and the tools hadn't been a giveaway, the body on the table over the drain would have done so.

It was an autopsy room, though a very old fashioned one.

Her captor moved back into her line of sight, apparently determined to be the focus of Cam's attention and cocked her head. "What would you prefer for me to call you? Dr. Saroyan? Or Camille?"

She was so polite about it, the slight British accent Sweets had noted coming through. She tapped her foot, reminding Cam that polite or not, the crazy lady was waiting for an answer. "Not Camille."

"Very well, _Dr._ _Saroyan. _You keep blinking. Are you still feeling the effects of the drug?" Her tone was more curious than concerned.

"Some." Deciding it was better not to appear weak, she changed the subject. "Where am I?"

Paisley waved her hand. "That's not important. You have the tools to fulfill your task." She motioned proudly toward the tools – scalpel, bone saw, rib cutters, a scale.

"Which is?"

"To tell me what our friend over there died from, of course. That's your area, after all, isn't it? Autopsies?"

"And if I refuse?"

Blue eyes fixed on her. "You really don't want to refuse. Macon is such a sweetie – it would be a shame if something happened to him."

Her mouth went dry and Cam swallowed against the terror. "You will not hurt my son."

"Not if you fulfill your task."

She hadn't said anything about letting Cam go. But the threat to Macon was very real. What Paisley was either unaware of or discounting is that Macon not only had his father guarding him, but Booth and the rest of her team. Cam herself might not make it home, but Paisley would never get near her son. She knew that with absolute certainty. She let a breath out, and motioned to the body on the table with a cock of her head. "Who is it?"

Paisley pretended to look puzzled for a moment. "Your team is known for identifying the unknown, are they not? What kind of challenge would it be if I told you who he was?"

"Did you kill him?"

"You're cheating, Dr. Saroyan. You're supposed to figure out all these things on your own. You can do that, can't you? Maybe you're not as good as people think."

"If I find out the answer one way or the other, why does it matter how I do it?" Cam strove to make her tone as reasonable as possible.

Paisley narrowed her eyes, stared for a moment. "That's very clever of you. But it's still cheating according to the game."

"So what are the rules?"

The other woman smiled in response, clearly pleased that Cam appeared to be playing along. She then looked over toward the door, and motioned with her hand. The door was metal, with a square window cut in it and opened it in response to Paisley's motion. A large man who could only be her partner entered and Cam struggled to remember what Sweets had said his name was.

"This is …Adam," Paisley said, in a way that told Cam it wasn't his real name. "And the rules are quite simple," she added, smiling. "I free you from the chair, you do the autopsy – I'll give you say, four hours. You correctly identify how he died. If you fail, or refuse…" she shrugged. "You and your family pay the price. And if you try to escape, or think to use that saw as a weapon? Adam will kill you."

She said the last with such absolute confidence that Cam scrapped the half-formed idea of trying to talk the man into helping her escape. Better to just play the psychopath's game.

She looked at the body and wondered again who he was and how he came to be dead. Then she looked at Paisley. "Fine. I agree to your 'rules.' But I want more time to do it. Given these circumstances, a minimum of six hours." At the other woman's frown, she added, "There is no standard length of time for an autopsy. Sometimes they take even longer than that, depending on what I find and what might require closer study. Most autopsies involve more than one person, particularly the ones we do. If you want me to do this, you have to give me the time to do it right."

Responding to her captor as if she was sane and could be negotiated with was a calculated risk. But if her life was tied to correctly figuring out cause of death – without all her tools – she wanted as much time as she could get.

Paisley stared at her for a long moment. "Fine. I'll give you six hours. If you don't have it by then, I'll assume you've failed." She didn't expand on the implied threat, but she didn't need to.

Cam looked over at the body on the table and felt a moment of despair. How the hell was she supposed to identify the cause of death without access to a tox screen, just for starters?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Paisley, who'd walked over to pick up the scalpel. She returned to Cam, and then simply stared at her. "I'm going to free you now. I'll remind you not to try to escape. It would be a pity if you died so early in the game." With that, she sliced the tape, and then ripped it off before turning to Adam. "Be a gentleman, Adam, and help her off with her jacket while I fetch the tea tray."

Rubbing her wrists, Cam watched the two of them warily. She'd just as soon keep the jacket, but since she couldn't tell whether it was a bizarre courtesy or something more sinister, she allowed him to take the coat. It was probably best not to argue needlessly with the madwoman.

Paisley returned pushing a cart that must have been right outside the door. "It's early for breakfast, but I thought you might be in need of some refreshment before beginning your task. I don't know your tastes, since the documentary didn't cover that and you ignored me during the one previous time we had an opportunity to get to know one another."

Her face darkened during her last line but she shook her head and the light returned to her open features. "I have tea, scones and real clotted cream, which can be difficult to find over here. Oh, and berries. Milk in your tea?"

When Cam looked at her in confusion, Paisley smiled, "A kidnapping is no reason for me to forget my manners, a lady always offers her guest something to eat and drink."

B&B

There was no reason for Booth to be in the lab. But there was no reason for him to be at the Hoover, either, since they were effectively at a dead end.

But he wanted to see Brennan. He needed to see her, if he was being honest and he wanted to touch base with Angela, the only person on the entire team who actually had something to do, as unlikely as it was to produce anything useful.

It was unnaturally quiet for a place normally humming with activity and his own pace slowed as he reached Brennan's office. She was staring blankly at her monitor, her expression one he identified with not paying attention. Her mind wasn't on whatever was in front of her.

That, too, was unnatural.

"Hey, Bones," he said softly as he approached her.

She blinked. "Booth ...did something happen? Was there a break in the case?"

He leaned over, dropped a kiss on the top of her and then settled on the edge of her desk. "No. You?"

"Not yet. Angela's file conversion is program is still running." She frowned at the monitor again, stabbed at a key. "I do not want Cam's job. People are expecting me to take over, especially if she doesn't return. I know I'm the logical one to do so. But I do not wish to do it."

Her voice was matter of fact, might have sounded callous to many, Booth reflected. But when she looked up at him, he saw a wealth of emotions in her eyes, dominated by fear and sorrow.

"Hey." He took her hand, pulled her up to him, unsurprised when her head dropped onto his shoulder. "Don't tell me, the bureaucrats?"

"Cam had a meeting scheduled with the director this morning. When she didn't show, he came to find out why and I had to tell him she was missing."

"And he's just assuming you'll step up because you were in charge during Cam's maternity leave."

"That was different."

He tilted her face up. "I know but just roll with it for now, Bones. She's not been missing even twenty-four hours yet. Do what needs to be done and we'll play what comes next by ear."

"You're the one who's good at that. I prefer sheet music with detailed notation."

It was impossible not to smile at that, and he was about to kiss her when Angela interrupted them.

"Guys? You're going to want to see this. Sweets just sent me a file - they've got a hit on a possible match. He's on his way over."

"What kind of hit? From looking through those lists?" He knew he sounded incredulous, but couldn't help it.

The three of them started toward Angela's office. "Yeah. A Gillian Eve Gregory is on the list with a John Henry Gregory and a Helen Carol Gregory. The name 'Eve' caught Sweets' eye. He'd assumed that it was a fake name but maybe not."

"Seems like that could just as easily be a reason to rule her out," Brennan commented.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. But turns out she's got the basic coloring and she did a stint at a boarding school."

They reached the office and she went to check something on one of her PCs. "I ran a search on her and she's based in New York. No driver's license and her passport is nine years old, so Sweets asked if I could clean up that photo and maybe age it some."

Sweets spoke from the door as he and Turner walked in. "Were you able to do so?"

"Please. It's not that difficult." Angela had picked up her tablet, made some adjustments and pointed. "Gillian Eve Gregory, aged to thirty-six, the last ten or so years compliments of me."

Booth barely glanced at the image on the screen, focusing instead on Sweets' expression. And knew the moment Sweets admitted defeat.

"It's not her." Shoulders slumped; he nevertheless continued staring at the image. "The shape of her face is wrong and she has a widow's peak that Paisley doesn't have."

For a moment, the four continued studying the screen, avoiding each other's eyes and the defeat they knew they would all see within them.

* * *

><p>Cam, having finished the tea, watched Paisley leave the room. If the autopsy was that important, why not stay and watch it? Mentally shrugging, she glanced at the grim faced man standing next to the door. His hand was in his jacket pocket – very deliberately so. Either he had a weapon or wanted her to think so.<p>

'Do the autopsy, Cam, and go from there.' She muttered under her breath.

Her captor had provided an apron, masks and medical grade gloves. Because the man had died of something communicable? Or simply because she was trying to give Cam the tools she believed she would need? A glance at the guard made the former unlikely, since he wasn't wearing a mask. She pulled on the protective gear and then removed the sheet draped over the body.

No body bag, which would have been expected if the body had been transported. And it must have been transported from somewhere.

Unless he'd been killed wherever it is they were now.

Upon closer inspection, the room they were in wasn't just old fashioned. It was bare. The shelves which would normally have held supplies were empty, giving it an abandoned feeling. So, a kill site wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Or maybe there had been a body bag and they'd removed it.

She was going to drive herself crazy over thinking the questions.

Turning to look at the tools, she saw a miniature digital voice recorder and a small medical grade microscope sitting off to the side. Unless she was mistaken, it was the same model Hodgins had found at the mall science store months before while they were quarantined there. A popular model, preferred by medical students, researchers without labs, and apparently now psychopaths.

Cam gave herself a mental shake – now was not the time to get punchy - and pressed record on the machine to begin taking notes. "Deceased looks to be in his mid-30's. No visible signs of trauma to the head or torso." Frowning, she studied his legs more closely. "Lower limbs show evidence of significantly reduced muscle mass." Following a hunch, she shifted the body, rolled it enough to see the back. "Pressure sore on the coccyx, partially healed, another forming on the back of the left heel." Easing the body back down, she continued the initial visual exam.

B&B

Not only was her prison bare, there were no clocks. Cam stood, stretched muscles stiff from bending over the microscope. She had no idea of the time – it could be the middle of the night or three in the afternoon – and no idea of how long Paisley had been gone. She'd decided earlier that her only choice was to do the best autopsy she could, without worrying about how much time she was taking.

Paisley either would kill her or she wouldn't.

She glanced over at Adam. He hadn't spoken to her, but nor had he relaxed his stance. Was he a psychopath as well or just easily led and not very bright? It had been too many years since her undergrad psych classes. She'd have to ask Sweets. If she ever saw him again.

She'd turned back to the body and was surveying it, wondering if she'd missed something, when the door opened and Paisley came in. "Your time is up." She looked..satisfied and that made Cam uneasy. "In your opinion, Dr. Saroyan, what caused this man's death?" She sounded so much like one of Cam's pathology professors, it was eerie.

Cam met her gaze squarely. "With the tools provided, it appears to me that he died of a health-care-acquired bacterial pneumonia, possibly Methicillian-Resistant-Staphylococcus aureus, MRSA for short."

"No complicating factors?"

"Based on the decreased muscle mass in his legs, he was a paraplegic. There's evidence of healing bedsores, indicating he was in a nursing home or other long-term care facility. There's a significant amount of infection in his lungs, which, when examined under the microscope and without reference resources, resemble, to the best of my memory, MRSA bacteria."

"No evidence of foul play, then?" Paisley walked over to stand, staring down at the body as if how he died was a great mystery to her.

"It is always possible to use naturally occurring death to mask murder," Cam said, and worked to keep irritation out of her voice. "Without a tox screen to analyze what's in his blood, no, I can't rule out other contributing or complicating factors."

"No, you really can't, can you?"

Despite her resolution simply to do the best she could, fear crowded out everything else, the conviction growing that it didn't matter how the man had died, not if a lunatic wanted her to fail. She turned, trying to figure out how to approach the other woman, and, too late to react, felt the sting of the needle in her arm.

B&B

After several hours of brainstorming, fruitlessly trying to come up with another angle to investigate, Booth had insisted a break was order. He insisted that Brennan and the baby needed a change of environment and a good meal.

"It's been nearly twenty four hours," she said quietly as they walked toward the diner.

"I know."

"The lack of leads to investigate is frustrating in the extreme."

"I know," he said again. "But we'll keep trying. Sooner or later, Bones, she'll slip up."

His phone rang and Brennan stopped walking and watched him press the button to answer it. They were all so tense, so focused on Cam, the possibility that it could be something unrelated barely registered.

"Booth." Various expressions chased across his face as he listened and never had her inability to read people frustrated her more.

He ended the call, and Brennan said, "What is it? Who was it?"

"A DC cop found Cam bound and drugged at the Jefferson Memorial. He says she's woozy, but okay."

She unexpectedly found it difficult to swallow, as relief made her dizzy.

"We're not far from there." Booth stated as he put his phone away and zipped up his jacket. "I'll go the rest of the way on foot. You head back to the lab and get the others – and call Paul."

All she could do was nod, and watch as he turned and dodged across the street.

* * *

><p>A small crowd had gathered at the memorial by the time Booth got there, consisting of a few other cops and some curious gawkers. He ignored them, his focus on the woman sitting with her head in her hands.<p>

Pushing sentiment aside, he knelt next to her and went for what had been working for them for many years. "Camille. You do know how to shake things up, don't you?"

"Seeley." She managed a smirk, although it was a wobbly one. "Don't call me Camille."

"Deal. Are you okay?"

"I've been better." She met his gaze. "But I've been worse, too." He nodded, understanding, and she said, "Macon? Paul?"

"They're all fine. Bones is calling Paul." Several car doors slammed and he looked around. "Here's the cavalry. We'll have him and Michelle meet us at the hospital."

She nodded and then grabbed his arm to stand. "I'm fine. Tired but fine." She rubbed her lower back. "And sore. I've either been standing or unconscious for hours."

B&B

It was several hours later that they all sat in Cam and Paul's living room, listening as she wrapped the recounting of her experience. Booth thought Paul would have preferred to delay the debriefing until the next morning, but Cam, ever the cop, had understood that the sooner she did it, the more she'd remember.

"So you did the autopsy, but can't say conclusively whether it was murder," Brennan summarized.

"No. It looked pretty straightforward to me but she's obviously quite willing to administer drugs, so it may not have been."

"Still, it's another angle to follow up on. Someone, somewhere, is missing a paraplegic who had pneumonia," Turner said.

"There's something else, as well," Cam said. "I've been thinking a great deal about where she held me. I only saw the one room but it looked like a standard autopsy room. I've been thinking about what else it could have been and nothing's coming to mind. With the drain and refrigerator units, it might have been an industrial kitchen, but there was no obvious place for a stove or a large cooler or freezer."

"So we're looking for an abandoned hospital?" Booth asked.

"Or funeral home. Embalming rooms have many of the same features."

"That's good. We can work with that."

Sweets had asked a few clarifying questions, but had been quiet the last few minutes, so Booth turned to him. "What are you thinking about, Sweets? What's going on in that shrinky brain of yours?"

"Just thinking about the differences between my experience and Dr. Saroyan's." He looked at Cam. "You said she was dressed in a suit, with her hair pulled back?"

"Yes. If I had seen her on the street, I would have thought her a successful businesswoman."

Brennan frowned. "Is that important?"

"Only in that she's exhibiting consistent behavior. Psychopathic personalities can be chameleons, changing in appearance and manner to fit what they perceive the social environment to require."

Cam's sighed and dropped her head back against the sofa. Paul looked from her to Booth, a concerned frown on his face.

Booth nodded, understanding, and stood. "We need to let Cam get some rest. We've got the gist of what we need for now. Tomorrow, we'll start looking at empty hospitals and mortuaries, and for news reports of missing paraplegics."

"And we've still got the immigration file," Angela noted. "The conversion finished just as Brennan came in to tell us where Cam was. As I was afraid of, the file itself is not complete – the number of records don't come anywhere near matching the actual official figures for those years. But now that it's converted, I can run queries on what's there. Maybe we'll get lucky and she'll be there."

They had all stood, and having said goodnight to Cam and Paul, were moving toward the door. "At some point, her luck has to run out," Sweets said. "It's our turn."

They all walked out together, but as they separated to go to their different vehicles, Booth called out, "Guys?" The team turned to look at him, "Be careful. We don't know what she's capable of so, until we catch her, I want you guys locking doors, paying attention and being aware of your surroundings. Call me or Turner if anything seems off to you, got it?"

The group nodded in agreement and began moving again. Booth and Sweets walked behind the group but before they got to the cars, the agent stopped the shrink. Keeping an eye on Brennan as she talked with Angela, he asked, "What's really on your mind?"

"You're not going to like it."

Booth sighed, "Just let me have it."

"She took me to do a psych eval. She took Cam to do an autopsy. She's open about it being a game…"

"None of us are off limits," Booth said in quick understanding.

"I don't think so. I might have been a fluke, particularly since my task was so obviously focused on her, but taking Cam for an autopsy…it changes things."

Booth looked at his somber friend, "We'll find her."

Sweets nodded, "I know we will…but when?"

* * *

><p>As Angela closed the door of the Mini Cooper, she exhaled deeply, "I am so relieved to know Cam's in there, where she belongs."<p>

"I hear a 'but' there."

"But I'm still not hearing much that's going to help us find Paisley. I don't know that tracking down a missing paraplegic is going to be any easier than looking through three hundred thousand immigration records. Jack, I don't want to live my life wondering which of my friends is going to be the next one to vanish!"

"We'll get her Ang. We will."

"You guys keep saying that but…What if we don't? What if this is the one that stumps us?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I do know that the team who took down Epps, Taffet, and Fitz isn't going to be defeated by a nut job like Paisley. We're good, Ange. Really, really good."

"I know. It's just …we told the social worker that our jobs aren't really dangerous. That we're in the lab, not out in the field but Cam wasn't snatched in the lab. Any one of us could have been taken and many of our cases could turn out to be dangerous. Should we really take responsibility for a kid?"

"Did you see how Paul was holding Macon when they got to the hospital?" he answered. "Do you think that he was regretting having him? That he would have, even if Paisley hadn't freed Cam?"

"No," she said. "In fact, he looked like the baby had been keeping him sane."

"And what of the baby? Do you think he'd regret being loved by Cam, even if something happened to her before he was old enough to remember? I don't. Love always matters, babe, no matter how long we have it for. From here on out we'll redouble our efforts to find the psychopath and take extra security precautions."

After a moment, she said, "You're right."

"Exactly. We'll stop her. And we'll continue getting our home ready for the child who needs us, our child."

Hodgins placed a kiss on her lips and pulled back with a huge grin on his face.

"What?"

"It is such a rare occasion that you tell me I'm right, I'm just savoring the feeling."

B&B

Turner studied Sweets as he drove them home. His topic of study might be people in general but he was hers and right now, based on the tension in his hands as he gripped the steering wheel, the man she loved was not in a good space.

"Lance?" she said quietly. "What are you thinking about?"

"Dr. Saroyan will sleep tonight."

She frowned, baffled. Whatever she'd been expecting him to say, it wasn't that. "That's a good thing, right?"

"Yeah but I'm still having more nights where I can't sleep, or where I wake up thinking I'm taped down, than not."

"You're upset because you think she'll handle having been kidnapped better than you?"

"It sounds foolish when you put it that way."

"It is," she said gently. "She's a cop. She's older than us, has dealt with all kinds of things we haven't."

"I know. But I'm a psychologist, Claude."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He ran his hand across his face and sighed, "I should have better coping skills."

Claudia wasn't sure how to address that so she pointed out, "Your experience was also different from Dr. Saroyan's in a key way."

"What do you mean?"

"You spent the entire time expecting to be killed but because you'd already been kidnapped and then released, she had hope that she'd be freed as well. Wouldn't that make a difference? Hours of being certain you were going to die versus having at least some hope that you might not?"

He was silent as he made a turn, pulled into their parking space. "Yeah. Frame of mind during an event can affect how we view it later." He looked over at her. "You're good, you know that?"

She leaned over and kissed him. "I learned from the best."

B&B

Booth pulled into the drive of the home they were renovating. He stared at the yard, silent, for a moment before getting out and standing next to the SUV. Curious, Brennan exited and walked around to him, trying to determine what he was doing.

He studied a large tree that stood off to the side of the yard for a moment, and then looked up at the roof of the house – the new roof that he and Wendell had laid down several weeks earlier.

Brennan let him stand there a moment, hands on hips, eyes roaming the house as he mentally assessed. It was clear he was considering something important. Finally, she interrupted. "It's very late, Booth, and I'm tired. Now is not a good time for a discussion on how the work is progressing."

"Yeah, ok, Bones." She was at his side and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders pulling her close as they walked inside their new home.

It was too late and they were too exhausted for a normal evening at home and they simply made their way to the bedroom ignoring the regular tasks they typically shared to keep the household running. They spoke little as they readied for bed. It was obvious Booth continued to stew over his earlier thoughts and Brennan had learned that allowing him some time to put his thoughts in order usually resulted in a more constructive discussion when he finally shared his concerns.

But, she had also learned that he should not attempt to go to bed with trouble on his mind. He slept poorly when he did that and tonight he needed rest after their grueling ordeal. Climbing into bed she scooted to his side of the bed and snuggled against him. Booth cradled her in one arm and his other hand began to caress her belly. She pressed a soft kiss to the warm skin of his bare chest and spoke. "Are you going to tell me what you are thinking about?"

"I'm thinking I love you."

She returned the brief hug he was giving her and pressed again. "I love you too, but that is not what I was referring to. What were you thinking about when we got home?"

"I know what you meant." He dropped his head and watched as his hand continued to stroke her rounded belly. "I was thinking about security. Hodgins gave me the name of a guy. Someone who can help with the kind of issues we have. I was looking at the house trying to pick the best spot for one of those security cameras. There's a spot on the corner of the roof, above your office, that will get most of the yard. And if I put another over the garage it will get the street. And I'll do two in the back yard." He looked at her, his expression grim. "I've been concentrating on internal security – good alarms on the doors and windows."

"But Cam was taken outside."

He rolled into her and dropped his head against hers. "I know it seems excessive, Bones, but either or both of us could be targets, and so could our kids. Your money and fame, people we've locked up, or their buddies…"

Her hand slid against his neck and she cupped the nape of his neck letting her fingers comb through his hair. "You're right. We discussed whether or not we should continue working together a few weeks ago and agreed that we should. It's too important to both of us, and what we do matters so much. But there's more we can do to protect ourselves and our family."

"I'll call about the cameras tomorrow." He kissed her. "We'll catch Paisley, but there will always be another psycho out there. You know that, don't you?"

"Statistically, it's unlikely there would be someone else exactly like her," she said primly. "But yes, there will probably always be people seeking to harm us. Fortunately, we have one another, and the rest of our team."

"Damn straight, we do. And we're the best."

"You know what we are best at?" she asked still lightly caressing his nape.

"Catching bad guys?"

"We are excellent at that," she agreed. "But we are better at this." And the way she kissed him made Booth wholeheartedly agree.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Join us next week as Booth and Brennan are called in to help catch a cold-hearted killer who puts his victims on display in blocks of ice in Pretty Maids All in a Row by Stayuff.<strong>_


	5. Pretty Maids All In A Row

Bones Season 7.5x05: Pretty Maids All in a Row~ Written by Stayuff

The music blared inside the newest club in the district, Ice Bar D.C., as two twenty-something young women walked through the door together. The chilly temperatures that hit them as they walked inside made it clear that the club was indeed made of real ice. The attendant handed them each a complimentary parka as the blonde started laughing.

"It's not funny!" The redhead growled as she slipped into her parka.

Her blonde friend laughed even louder. "It _totally_ is, Kelsey. I mean, come on. First, you're all, 'I'm so serious. I'm going to be a doctor.' Then, you convince your daddy to pay for your breast implants right before your med school interviews? Now, four years and yet another little cup size upgrade later, you're hanging out in the one club where you can't even show off your cleavage!"

"Tammy, shut up. You're just jealous because your father said no when _you_ begged for implants," Kelsey replied with a glare.

Tammy clenched her jaw. "Keep that up and I'm going to tell your daddy that you're here hanging out in this club because his club is yesterday's news."

Kelsey scoffed. "Oh, please! I'll just tell him that I came here to get the inside scoop so that he'd know what Wired is up against."

"What they're up against is the fact that a bar centered around coffee is _so_ 1997. I mean; if Starbucks started selling liquor, your dad would be out of business tomorrow," Tammy replied haughtily.

Kelsey nodded. "I'll give you that one. I tried to tell Dad not to buy those couches, too. He might as well have made all of the waitresses wear short skirts and change their name to Rachel."

Tammy gasped excitedly as she looked across the club. "Ooh! Major hotness overload situation by the far wall!"

"Mine," Kelsey said simply as she walked away from Tammy.

Tammy frowned and shouted after her friend, "I hope your implants freeze solid!"

Kelsey smiled victoriously as the man in question noticed her and nodded. She made her way through the crowd to where he was standing and flipped her long, red hair over her shoulder.

The man signaled one of the waitresses. "Hey, Red Hot. Can I buy you a drink?"

Kelsey mentally rolled her eyes at the lame pick-up line and the less than creative nickname, but decided to press on in case he actually was worth her time. "Sapphire Collins, on the rocks."

The man nodded approvingly as he ordered two of the same. "I like a lady who enjoys a little dressed up gin. I'm Gil."

"Kelsey."

Gil gestured at the wall. "Interesting decor."

Kelsey chuckled as she noticed the mannequins suspended in the blocks of ice. "Yeah, it's definitely unique. They're like parka-wearing gogo dancers who fell through the ice of a frozen pond."

"Interesting, yet disturbing thought." Gil laughed and watched as Kelsey moved in for a closer look.

Kelsey looked at one of the mannequins and shook her head. "Wow! Deja vu! That mannequin looks like our housekeeper."

Gil raised an eyebrow. "Your _housekeeper_ looks like that? My parents' housekeeper looks like Mrs. Garrett from The Facts of Life!"

She laughed as she nodded. "Seriously, that's a bit creepy. Wonder if she ever did any modeling. Otherwise, that's just one hell of a coincidence."

Gil moved closer to Kelsey and put his hand on her shoulder. "I think that's probably the most realistic mannequin I've ever seen."

Kelsey's eyes got wide as she took a closer look at the arm. "Since when do mannequins have bruising?"

"Maybe it's just the lighting?" Gil suggested.

Kelsey looked down at the hand of the mannequin and gasped. "Oh my God! That's not a mannequin. She's wearing Marcie's ring! It's Marcie!"

* * *

><p>"So, it's in an old slaughterhouse?" Agent Turner asked from the backseat of the SUV.<p>

Brennan nodded. "Actually, it was a rather intelligent choice, given the type of club it is. The main room is effectively one large freezer, thus allowing the owners to operate their club year round. According to Angela, the club is ironically 'hot, hot, hot.'"

Cam smirked at her colleague's choice of words. "Thanks for the observation, Alanis. Is it also like rain on your wedding day?"

"Who? Is someone getting married?" Brennan asked as Turner and Cam shared a smile.

Booth shook his head. "Never mind, Bones. Cam was just having musical flashback to the mid-nineties. Not really worth explaining." He glared pointedly at the reflection in the mirror of the two amused women.

"Cam's strange comment aside, I'm excited to see this location. Angela's descriptions were quite intriguing. She was quite disappointed that she didn't get a chance to visit the club before the body was discovered."

Booth sighed. "Bones, I still don't like the idea of you going to this crime scene. It just doesn't sound safe for the baby. Besides, you didn't even need to come. This body is all fleshy and that's really more Cam's department."

Brennan flushed as she closed her eyes and muttered something that sounded like, "Possible ritual... Remains posed... Anthropologist needed..."

Booth held back a chuckle; it was clear that his favorite anthropologist just didn't want to be left behind at the lab. "My mistake, Bones. It still doesn't mean that this is safe for you to be heading into the big room made of ice."

Brennan opened her eyes and smirked at him. "Booth, it is perfectly safe. The fetus is in no danger."

Cam smiled at Turner as the partners continued to bicker about the cold conditions at the crime scene. It was a comforting, familiar distraction and made the time pass quickly as drove toward the club's location. The pathologist and the agent kept silent until they heard Booth start digging himself into an embarrassing hole just as they pulled up outside Ice Bar D.C.

"I just don't like the idea of our baby in there shivering!" Booth exclaimed.

Cam decided to jump in and save him before he said something even more embarrassing. "Seeley, you're a smart man. Don't let 'Nervous Father-to-Be' syndrome cause you to seem otherwise." She sighed at his annoyed, yet confused, expression. "A pregnant woman's body is literally an incubator. Her body heat keeps the baby warm. As long as she keeps warm, her body temperature will stay in the safe range and the baby will be fine."

Brennan smiled as she opened the door and exited the SUV. "See, Booth? There's nothing to worry about. As long as I don't become hypothermic or die, the fetus is in no danger of freezing."

Booth groaned, but didn't have a chance to respond because one of the police officers walked up to them. "Agent Booth?"

Booth nodded as he flashed his badge. "What have you got for me?"

"Well, more than we thought we had twenty minutes ago." The officer answered.

"Which means what?" Booth asked impatiently.

"We believe that there are two more bodies in the ice."

"Possible multiple murder with posed bodies lends credence to my ritual theory. See? You _do_ need me here!" Brennan smiled triumphantly as she moved to get her heavy coat from the SUV.

Booth frowned his partner's retreating form. "It should probably frighten me for our child's sake that she's this excited about possible ritual murder; right?"

Turner laughed as Cam muttered under her breath. "He's even more in love with her than I thought if he really has to ask that question."

B&B

"So, the young woman who discovered the first body is a medical student?" Brennan asked as Booth swerved the SUV to avoid a tire tread.

Booth nodded. "Kelsey Hall, age 26. She's a fourth year med student at Georgetown. She said she recognized the victim as her family's housekeeper, Marcie Rosales. Turner said a missing persons report was filed three days ago by Quentin Hall, Kelsey's father."

"And he's the owner of another club in the area?" Brennan asked.

"Right. He owns Wired. It's a coffee-themed bar, riding on the coattails of the mass colonization of our planet by Starbucks."

Brennan's brow furrowed. "I understand that you were merely employing hyperbole to complement your sarcasm, but I fail to understand why. You enjoy coffee. I watch you drink it every morning."

Booth smiled sympathetically. "Still hanging on to those sour grapes about not being able to drink regular coffee? I told you that I would switch to decaf."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "Insisting that you keep drinking regular coffee was for my benefit, not yours. You are insufferable if you haven't consumed sufficient amounts of caffeine in the morning."

"I am not _that _bad, Bones," Booth protested as he turned off onto the Hall's street.

Brennan smirked. "You are more tolerable when you're sick than when you're under-caffeinated. At least when you're sick, all you do is whine. When you haven't had enough coffee, I have to endure your knee bouncing nervously all day long."

After they were admitted through the gates of the Hall's estate, Booth pulled up in front of the main house. Booth watched Brennan as she climbed out of the SUV and smiled. It never ceased to surprise him how just the sight of the gentle swell of her abdomen sent joy coursing through him. He shook himself out of his musings and moved quickly to catch up to his partner, who had almost reached the door of the house.

Booth knocked and the door was opened by a young Hispanic woman.

"Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan?" She asked.

Booth nodded as he flashed his badge. "That's correct."

"Please, come in. I'm Felicia Escobedo, we spoke on the phone," Felicia said as she stood back to let the partners enter the lavishly decorated home.

"Yes, Ms. Escobedo, could we find some place private to speak?" Booth asked as he and Brennan both shook hands with Felicia.

The young woman smiled. "Please, call me Felicia. Actually, Mrs. Hall requested that you speak with her first because she has another appointment scheduled. I hope that's not a problem. We can speak after you see Mrs. Hall."

Booth smiled. "That's fine, Felicia. We appreciate you both taking the time to speak with us."

They followed the young woman down the hallway to the surprisingly modest looking study where Serena Hall was working. She was sitting at her computer, typing furiously as she looked back and forth between the screen and the stack of paperwork next to her keyboard. She didn't look up, but gestured toward the two chairs in front of her desk.

"Have a seat. I just need to finish a few things on a proposal for a job we're bidding. Felicia can get you something to drink if you would like." She kept her head down and continued typing.

Booth looked at Brennan, who shook her head in the negative. "No, thank you, Felicia. We're fine."

"Very well. Let me know if you need anything else, Mrs. Hall." Felicia exited the room after receiving no response from her employer.

After Felicia closed the door, Serena Hall looked up at her visitors for the first time and smiled primly. "I apologize for making you wait. The bidding process can be so vicious, that I can't afford to make a mistake."

Booth ignored her apology. "You run a custodial services company. Is that correct, Mrs. Hall?"

She smiled again and Booth wondered if perhaps she was a former beauty queen since she had such a well-practiced fake smile. "Yes, I do, Agent Booth. Created it from the ground up myself. SJH Professional Services. We provide long and short-term commercial custodial services for corporations and restaurants, as well as a number of locations with large venues for conferences and weddings."

"Mrs. Hall, when did you notice that Marcie Rosales was missing?" Brennan asked, ignoring the very practiced-sounding commercial.

"Actually, I was in Baltimore negotiating a contract for the new facility of a large non-denominational mega-church when Marcie failed to report to work. My husband was home, so Felicia went to him when it became clear that Marcie would not be coming in that day. He called me that first morning to let me know and said that they had already called all available numbers for her, as well as her emergency contacts, but to no avail. Marcie was nowhere to be found," Serena answered with a solicitous smile.

"So, Marcie's disappearance was an aberration in her behavior pattern?" Brennan asked.

Serena nodded. "Yes, Marcie was always quite punctual and a very reliable employee; that's why she served as senior housekeeper for so long."

"Mrs. Hall, do you recognize either of these women?" Booth handed photos of the other two victims in the ice.

She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. They don't look familiar."

"Do you know if Marcie had any enemies? Disagreements with coworkers?" Booth asked as he put the photographs away.

Serena shook her head. "Marcie was a very private person and I prefer to keep a professional distance from my employees. It's something I practice both in my business and in my home. Kelsey and my husband, Quentin, were closer to her. Quentin left for Italy last night on a buying trip with his master roaster and will be back tomorrow evening. He may be able to provide you with more information than I can." She looked at her watch. "I'm sorry, but I really do need to go. My next appointment will be here soon. Felicia can answer any further questions you might have."

Brennan stiffened at the icy, yet cheerful, dismissal but rose when she saw Booth stand.

Booth held out his hand with a smile. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Hall."

"Thank _you_, Agent Booth... Dr. Brennan." Serena shook his hand and flashed her pageant smile again.

Booth looked at Brennan as Serena pressed a button on her desk phone to summon Felicia. _I know, Bones. There's definitely something going on with her._

B&B

Booth and Brennan followed Felicia into a large eat-in kitchen.

"Please, have a seat. Are you sure that I can't get you anything to eat or drink? I know that I couldn't go more than half an hour without being either hungry or thirsty when I was pregnant." Felicia smiled at Brennan.

Brennan sighed. "Only if there's a restroom nearby."

Felicia pointed to a door on the opposite wall. "Just through there."

Brennan nodded. "Then, I'd like some water." She paused before walking quickly toward the restroom. "After I return. Go ahead and start without me."

Booth sat down and chuckled as she shut the door behind her. "I don't know how women do it. Having to go that often would drive me nuts."

Felicia smiled as she walked to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water for Brennan. "That's why women have the babies, Agent Booth. Are you sure that you don't want anything?"

Booth shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm fine." He paused. "So, Felicia. How well did you know Marcie?"

Felicia frowned. "Not very well, I'm afraid."

Booth slid the photographs across the table. "Felicia, do you recognize either of these women?"

Felicia paled at the images of the deceased women, but shook her head. "No. I've never seen them before."

"What can you tell me about the day that Marcie disappeared?" Booth asked as he put the photographs away.

Felicia leaned back in her chair and sighed. "I arrived here at 6am, just like every morning, except Marcie wasn't already here waiting for me. For the first time since I joined the Hall household, I was the first one here."

"What time did Marcie normally arrive?"

"5:30am. She always arrived earlier so that she could go over the calendar and plan assignments." Felicia paused when she saw Booth's brow furrow. "As senior housekeeper, she kept the entire household on schedule. She supervised the cleaning staff, the chefs, and the gardeners; she also interfaced with both Mr. and Mrs. Hall's personal assistants to ensure that the household schedule flowed seamlessly with their business schedules. She was effectively our chief of staff."

Booth nodded. "So, Marcie being late was an immediate red flag."

"Yes, especially since she hadn't mentioned that she would be late and had even mentioned in passing that she was looking forward to the quiet evening at home."

Brennan rejoined them at the table. "Mrs. Hall said that Marcie was a very private person. Did you find that to be the case? It would seem that you didn't, given that you discussed her plans for the evening."

Felicia smiled sadly. "Mrs. Hall was correct; Marcie was very private. We exchanged pleasantries, but I didn't know anything about her other than the fact that our mothers were both from Mexico. Though we got along well, we were never more than friendly strangers. No personal details. I didn't even know that she had a daughter until Mr. Hall told me and I've been assistant housekeeper for three years."

"When did Mr. Hall tell you about Marcie's daughter?" Booth asked.

"The day that Marcie went missing. I suggested that we attempt to contact her mother and he told me that Marcie didn't speak to her mother."

"Did he say why?" Brennan asked.

Felicia nodded. "He said that her mother had been upset when Marcie told her she was pregnant. Mrs. Rosales disapproved of Marcie becoming a single mother and tried to sue for custody, though she was unsuccessful. Marcie never spoke to her again, according to Mr. Hall."

"So, Mr. Hall knew Marcie pretty well?" Booth asked.

Felicia nodded. "Marcie worked for the Halls for over ten years, beginning when she was about twenty. Kelsey was in high school when Marcie started working here and the two of them developed a close friendship. Since Kelsey is very close to her father, he in turn got to know Marcie quite well."

Booth cleared his throat. "What do you know about Marcie's daughter?"

"Just that her name is Katie, she's six, and one of Marcie's friends watches her every day after school until Marcie comes home from work."

"Do you know anything about the friend? The same friend who is still caring for Katie right now?" Booth asked.

"No, Mr. Hall told me her name, but I don't remember it."

Booth looked at Brennan and the two of them rose from the table as he held out a business card. "Well, thank you for your time, Felicia. If you think of anything else, perhaps a past disagreement in the household, please give me a call."

"If I remember anything, but Marcie was always very professional and the Halls always seemed pleased with her work so I don't believe that there's anything else." Felicia answered. "I just can't imagine who would want to hurt Marcie. I can't imagine anyone knowing her well enough to have reason to be mad at her."

* * *

><p>Booth walked into Cam's autopsy suite with Brennan and clapped his hands together. "Alright, squints... What do you have for me?"<p>

Angela smirked from her perch in the corner of the room. "A hell of a lot more than we would have had if Cam had given in to Jack's suggestion on how to remove the bodies from the blocks of ice."

Hodgins glared at her. "Just because I said it would be funny if we defrosted them like Pauly Shore did in Encino Man... It was a joke, Angie."

Angela chuckled. "Sure... I'm just hoping that you weren't suggesting it because you wanted your very own thawed out Brendan Fraser, all hot and primitive, fresh from a long winter's nap."

Booth sighed. "Ignoring the fact that you just questioned your husband's sexuality..." He turned away from the couple. "Cam, any progress on the human popsicles?"

"We were able to confirm ID on the victim discovered by the party girl. She's a match for Marcie Rosales." Cam replied.

"Okay, so Kelsey Hall was right. The victim washer family's housekeeper, missing for six days and officially reported missing by her coworker, Felicia Escobedo, three days ago." Booth supplied.

Cam shook her head. "She had to have been missing for longer than that. She's been dead for closer to two weeks and appears to have been frozen very soon after she died."

"Any idea on cause of death?" Booth asked.

"Just that old standby, blunt force trauma to the head." Cam replied.

Brennan moved to the computer and pulled up the x-rays. "They were each struck once in the occipital bone. I'll know more about the nature of the damage once Cam has completed her examination."

Booth nodded. "No progress on identifying the two other women?"

Angela frowned. "No, since nobody recognized them, we're checking them against missing persons but so far we've come up empty."

Booth's phone rang. "Booth... Yeah? Thanks, Turner. I'll be there in twenty."

"Did Claudia find something?" Brennan asked.

"She was just calling to tell me that Dale Harris is on his way in. He's the construction supervisor for Watkins Ice Creations, they poured the blocks for the walls and designed the interior of the club."

"Do you want me to come with you to question him?" Brennan asked.

Cam interjected. "Actually, all three autopsies are complete so the bodies are ready for you now."

Brennan nodded primly. "I shall remain here and continue studying the x-rays while Mr. Nigel-Murray cleans the bones."

"I'm not sure how long I'll be. If the interview with Harris doesn't take too long, maybe we can all meet at Founding Fathers?"

Cam smiled tiredly. "I'm in.

Brennan shook her head. "I will not be available for a lengthy meal this evening. Since Cam has finished the autopsies, I'd prefer to stay a little later and try to make progress on the murder weapon."

"I'm out, too." Hodgins said. "I need to get to work on the particulates that Cam found in the wounds."

"Me, three. I'm going to start working on simulations as soon as Bren gives me the details on the fracture patterns on the skulls." Angela added.

"Well, I'll still join you. Paul and I were supposed to have dinner tonight, but he got called in for a high-risk patient so I'm sure that he won't be home before midnight. Michelle's all set to babysit and it would be a shame to waste a free evening." Cam smiled. "Besides, it's been too long since you bought me a drink and you owe me."

Booth chuckled. "Fine, Camille. I'll be your platonic replacement date for the evening."

Cam smiled triumphantly. "Good answer."

Booth rolled his eyes as he turned to Angela. "Angela, can you make sure that Bones eats more than just a tiny salad?"

Angela smiled. "Not to worry, studly. She'll eat well and I'll make sure she gets home at a decent hour, too."

"I _am_ standing right here!" Brennan protested.

"And you look beautiful." Booth grinned as he walked out of the room.

B&B

"I think working with ice must do something to people's brains. It's like extreme brain freeze," Turner said as she walked out of the interrogation room. "Remind me not to eat ice cream too fast ever again."

Booth laughed. "Dale Harris is definitely a nut job. Not a guilty nut job, but a nut job all the same."

"He approved the mannequins that were to be cast in the blocks of ice, supervised the installation of the blocks of ice, and he didn't notice that they looked nothing like what he had chosen?" Turner came to a stop in front of the elevators and sighed. "He's like a blonde bimbo secretary trapped inside a large, bearded man's body."

Booth shivered. "Now, there's an image I'd like to erase from my mind."

"I can't believe they'd allow him to supervise paint drying, much less trust him with construction of a ritzy Fortress of Solitude."

Booth pushed the button for the elevator and smirked at the younger agent. "You and the boy doctor really are perfect for each other; you know that?"

Turner rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway. "So... Do you want me to see what I can find on the two guys who went missing from Harris' crew?"

"Yeah, see what you can find on Darius Shaw and Carlos Graham. Ice Boy didn't seem too concerned, but those guys disappeared immediately after the installation of the ice blocks."

"No coincidences in murder," Turner parroted.

"Exactly. Let me know what you find." Booth held the door as they stepped onto the elevator. "So, do you have big plans tonight, Turner? Don't be too specific; I don't need scary visuals about you and Sweets."

Turner laughed. "Nothing like that... It's movie night. After I get the ball rolling on the research into Shaw and Graham, we're ordering takeout and watching Falling Down."

Booth's brow furrowed. "Do I want to know what it's about?"

Turner chuckled. "Michael Douglas and vigilante justice. Lance wants to analyze the psychology of the main character, but I just think that Douglas' performance is absolutely hysterical."

"Yeah, don't want to know." Booth shook his head.

The elevator doors opened and the two agents parted ways. Booth looked at his watch and pulled out his phone.

"Bones?" Booth asked as he walked into his office to start packing up for the day.

"Wrong squint, ," Angela replied cheerily.

He looked at his phone to make sure he dialed the right number. "Why are you answering Bones' phone?"

"Because she's asleep in the backseat of the car. We went to the diner but Brennan was in danger of doing a face plant in her soup, so we got our food to go. She passed out before Jack even put the key in the ignition." Angela smiled. "Don't worry, though. She's fine, just wiped out from growing a small human."

Booth chuckled. "Thanks for looking out for her. Well, I'm going to meet Cam for dinner. Will you let Bones know when she wakes up? I'll call her when I'm headed home."

"No problem."

B&B

"How many of those have you had already?" Booth asked, tapping her glass as he slid into the bench seat next to Cam at Founding Fathers.

Cam pursed her lips in irritation at what she thought was chastisement in her old friend's question, until she looked in his eyes and saw the twinkle of amusement. "Leave me alone, Big Man. I haven't been out without the baby, with the exception of a case celebration or two, in a long, long time. I'm catching up." She lifted her glass and saluted him before draining the remainder of the amber liquid.

Booth signaled to the bartender for a drink for himself as well as a refill for Cam, then settled back in the booth and gave what Cam always referred to as his 'interrogation look'.

"So, Camille…what gives?"

"Hmm?" She deflected, absently thanking the waitress as she set their drinks on the table.

"What do you mean?"

He leaned forward, grinning. "Cam. Come on, this is me. Seeley Booth. Incredibly intuitive FBI agent, close friend…I have a highly-developed BS detector when it comes to you. And you don't just call me out of the blue for drinks anymore. In fact, if memory serves, we haven't done this, just the two of us, since…" He shook his head. "Wow, right after my surgery." He waved his hand. "Let's have it."

Cam smiled. "You know, for an incredibly intuitive FBI agent, you're incredibly unobservant." And with that, she held out her left hand, wiggling the fingers in his face with a laugh as the diamond caught the small amount of light in the bar.

"Camille Saroyan…are you actually getting married?" Booth's eyes were wide, but full of happiness as he slid from his seat and pulled her to her feet, engulfing her in a huge bear hug. "I am so happy for you, Cam." He pulled back and smiled hugely. "Paul is one damn lucky man, he knows that, right?"

"He'd better." Cam felt a familiar burning in her nostrils and eyes at the love and happiness radiating from her oldest friend, and she blinked and sniffed to ward off the onslaught of unexpected tears. "I mean, come on…I damn near almost ruined this body to give him a son. He owes me."

Booth chuckled and made a show of checking Cam out as she waved a hand in front of her body. "Nah, you still look good, Cam. And better yet, you look happy."

"I am happy." She settled back into her seat just as a look crossed Booth's face, so quick she almost missed it. "And…you're happy too, aren't you? I mean, you and Dr. Brennan, finally…and a baby? It has to be everything you dreamed of, right?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Booth nodded, a genuine but muted smile crossing his face. "Literally."

"Oh yes, the infamous coma dream."

"You know you're the only one who insists on calling it that." Booth replied, rolling his eyes.

Cam waved a careless hand in between them. "Eh, you'll forgive me, you always do." She considered her next words before speaking. "But you did say 'pretty much', there. And it reminds me of something I wanted to ask you…well, I thought about asking you. I just didn't want to overstep."

" Since when has that ever stopped you?"

Watching him carefully, Cam could see the tension in the line of his jaw, the curve of his shoulders and the way he avoided her eyes. Deciding that it really was past time to have this conversation, she took the plunge. "Are you going to be okay with the real possibility that Dr. Brennan might never marry you?"

Instead of the sharp retort she expected, Booth's head dropped to hang between his shoulders as if he had been expecting just that question. A small part of Cam felt bad for bringing it up at all, but her love and affection for the man next to her was overriding her hesitation.

"Hey." She tapped his shoulder. "I'm serious, Seeley."

"Don't think I don't know that, Camille." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "I'm just trying to decide how to answer the question."

"Honestly would be good."

"I'm not sure you would believe me." He smiled slightly at her surprised expression. "Yes, Cam. I am completely okay with knowing that Bones might not ever marry me." He waited a beat before picking his head up and turning completely towards her. "You seem shocked."

"I don't want you to give up something you want just to keep her, that's all."

Wide-eyed, Booth outright laughed. "You know what? I am constantly amazed at the fact that no matter my tough guy cred, everyone thinks I'm just going to turn into a big pushover with no opinions of my own when it comes to Bones. I expected better of you, Cam."

Cam blanched. "I don't think that, Booth…I don't. I just-"

"Just what?" He snapped. At her truly repentant look, he softened his tone. "Look, I get it, okay? You think that I have this…fantasy. Admittedly, I did have a dream about being married to Bones, but that was…I don't know, inspired by a story _she_ was writing." He paused. "And yes, it was just a story. I have no expectations beyond what we've already promised each other."

She was quiet for a moment while he ordered them both another drink. Once they arrived, she took a quick sip, and then tried to explain herself. "Look, Seeley…I just don't want you to miss out on something you need. You're my friend, and I love you and I only want you to be happy."

"I am happy, Cam." His grin threatened to take over his face. "Hey, I have this amazing woman who loves me, just a plain old schmo…I'm lucky to have her."

"Booth…you've never been a plain old anything. She's just as lucky. And Brennan would agree with me." She laid her hand on his arm and squeezed. "You deserve someone amazing, because you are, too."

"Yeah, well…I'm the first one to admit that she's smarter and classier and just…more, than I am." He waved off Cam's protest to continue. "And I'm really okay with that. I am, Cam." He sighed. "And yes, I do think about Bones meeting someone…I don't know, more compatible than I am. You think I don't know that on paper we make no sense?"

Cam snorted lightly, smiling. "That's never mattered to either of you, Seeley."

"Exactly." He pointed into the air, glad his friend understood. "But Bones…sure, she's smart and she's beautiful and all that. But she's also honest. And loyal. And she doesn't believe in monogamy and forever…but for me? She's willing to go all in, with no evidence. With me…._for me_, she's going with her gut." Booth smiled proudly. "For me. And that means more to me than any legal contract or fancy ceremony or matching rings."

"Wow." Cam breathed. "I guess you have thought about this."

"I have." Booth moved to brush the edge of his glass with hers, nodding. "And now, let's get back to what we came here for in the first place and drink a few more to _your_ marriage."

She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Deal."

* * *

><p>Brennan smiled as she watched the baby shove a pudgy fist in his mouth. "I do find it intriguing that Macon elicits amusement from me with the simplest actions. I'm captivated and I have no idea why."<p>

Paul laughed and shared a smile with Cam. "I'd like to think that it's just because he's just ridiculously handsome, but I'm fairly certain that it has something to do with the fact that you're thinking about watching your own child performing these same actions."

"I suspect that both are true, Paul." Brennan replied as she reached over and tickled the baby's belly.

Cam grinned as her son's laughter filled the air. "He likes having his feet tickled even more than his tummy."

"I'm going to assume that you're talking about the baby." Booth walked up the stairs and into the lounge with Sweets at his side.

"Do you really want to know?" Cam asked with a mischievous grin.

Booth sighed. "You are a mean woman, Camille Saroyan."

"Yet, you continue to keep me as a friend." Cam answered cheekily.

"If you're going to have a secret meeting, I'd suggest a better hidden clubhouse." Angela said as she climbed the stairs with Hodgins in tow.

"No secret meeting." Cam said as she took her son from Paul's arms. "Paul just brought Macon by for a visit this morning and the magical baby magnet pulled everyone up here."

Brennan looked at Booth. "Magical baby magnet?"

Booth smiled. "I'll tell you later, Bones. I can tell you, though, that our baby will have a really strong one, too."

"As lovely as he is..." Angela paused and waved at the smiling baby. "I have case news."

Booth turned to Angela. "Victim ID-type news?"

The artist nodded. "Two new missing persons reports were just filed. Alisha Tanner and Tenelle Dawson, both former employees of SJH Professional Services."

"Former because they're dead or former because they were fired?" Cam asked.

"Neither." Angela replied. "According to their Facebook pages, they quit nearly three weeks ago to start their own housekeeping business."

Sweets chuckled. "So, all three of our murder victims were maids?"

"Why is that funny, Sweets?" Brennan asked.

Sweets looked around the lounge incredulously. "Oh, come on! Nobody else? Really?" He started to sing in a falsetto voice. "Three little maids from school are we, pert as a school-girl well can be, filled to the brim with girlish..."

He stopped singing when he saw the stunned faces staring back at him. "Seriously? None of you have ever heard of The Mikado? Gilbert and Sullivan? I mean, it even appeared in an episode of Frasier."

"Why am I not surprised that you watched a show about a radio psychiatrist?" Booth asked as his phone rang.

He stepped away to take the call and smiled as he heard the others start laughing and teasing Sweets for his musical outburst. "Booth."

"I got something from the financial records of Darius Shaw and Carlos Graham."

"Well, don't leave me hanging, Turner. What did you find?" Booth asked.

"Both of them made large deposits the day before the blocks of ice were installed. Shaw and Graham received wire transfers in the amount of $15,000. The day they disappeared, they both withdrew most of the money in their accounts." Turner replied.

"So, no other transactions since then?"

"You might want to wait because that's not the most interesting part." Turner said excitedly.

Booth sighed. "You've got to learn not to bury the lead just for dramatic effect, Turner."

"Sorry. The interesting part is that the money was wired from Quentin Hall's business account."

Booth smiled. "So, have we been able to get Mr. Hall to come in or do we need to have him brought in?"

"He's on his way to the Hoover right now. His lawyer called a few minutes ago and said that he was coming straight from the airport."

"Thanks, Turner. Keep him on ice until I get there. Then, check with Agent Marshall to see what they were able to find when they searched Shaw and Graham's houses."

Booth ended the call and turned back to the group. "Hey, Sweets? If you promise to never to sing like a girl again, you can come with me to question Quentin Hall. It looks like we finally have a prime suspect."

B&B

Booth and Sweets walked into the interrogation room together and saw Quentin Hall sitting at the table. He looked composed, not at all concerned that he had been called in for questioning by the FBI. Booth looked at Sweets pointedly. The younger man nodded, "Cold as ice, which is appropriate given this case." _._

"Mr. Hall, I'm Agent Booth and this is Dr. Sweets."

Quentin shrugged. "I'm not sure what I can do, but I'm glad to anything I can to help you discover what happened to Marcie."

"Mr. Hall, how well did you know Marcie Rosales?" Booth asked as he and Sweets took their seats.

"She worked for my family for over ten years, so I suppose that I knew her fairly well. She was close to my daughter, Kelsey, so I got to know her better through their relationship." Quentin answered calmly. "Her death is a terrible tragedy and Kelsey is understandably upset to lose a friend that way."

"Mr. Hall, do you know Darius Shaw and Carlos Graham?" Sweets asked.

"No, I've never heard those names before."

Booth slid a piece of paper across the table to him. "Then, how do you explain the $15,000 that was wired from your business account into each of their accounts?"

"I can't. I didn't authorize those transactions. I don't know those men. Why would I give them $30,000 of my money?"

"Well, they were part of the crew that poured and installed the ice blocks that Marcie and the other two women were found in." Booth replied.

Quentin scoffed. "Are you actually implying that I paid these men to dispose of my housekeeper's body and the bodies of two other women by using money from my own business account? I'd have to be an idiot to leave behind that kind of paper trail!"

"Are you saying you would be smarter about it if you were going to commit a crime?" Sweets asked.

Quentin shook his finger at Sweets. "No, no, no. That was not a confession, because there's nothing for me to confess. I've never heard of those men before in my life."

"What about Alisha Tanner and Tenelle Dawson? Have you heard of them?" Booth handed Quentin the photos from the crime scene.

Quentin gasped. "These are the other women who were found with Marcie?"

Booth nodded. "Yes, they were. Did you know them?"

Quentin sighed. "They used to work for my wife's company. They were part of the crew that came to clean at my club, Wired. I believe that they also worked a few events that Serena hosted at our home. I didn't know their names, but I have a good memory for faces." He looked at the pictures again and shuddered. "Marcie looked like this, too?"

Sweets heard the concern in his voice and decided to pounce on it. "Mr. Hall, were you in a relationship with Marcie Rosales?"

"Not a romantic one." He answered calmly. "We were acquainted, that's all."

"You're certain?" Sweets asked.

Quentin rolled his eyes. "I do believe that I know who I have and have not been in a romantic relationship with."

"Yes, of course." Sweets answered softly.

"What can you tell us about Katie, Marcie's daughter?" Booth asked. "Felicia told us that you knew a fair amount about her."

Quentin smiled sadly. "Katie... Katie is a sweet child, very smart. Marcie was understandably very proud of her. I must admit to having quite a soft spot for the child. Kelsey is the same way; she's always on the lookout for little things that she thinks Katie will like."

"Do you and Kelsey spend time with Katie?" Sweets asked.

"Kelsey more so than me. I've accompanied Kelsey on her visits sometimes, though. Kelsey adores Katie and the feeling is mutual. She's going to make a wonderful pediatrician; children love her." Quentin replied.

"Was Marcie present for these visits?" Booth asked.

"She was not there on the occasions when I visited, because the visits occurred during the day while Marcie was at work. Marcie's neighbor, Mrs. Riordan, keeps Katie on days when she's off from school and also every afternoon." His eyes widened. "Is Katie still with Mrs. Riordan? Marcie's mother tried to get custody once and completely destroyed their relationship. Katie does not know her grandmother."

Booth smiled sympathetically. "Mrs. Riordan is a registered foster parent, so Katie was allowed to remain in her care while social services tries to locate the father."

Quentin nodded. "Does anyone know who her father is?"

"No, but social services is working on it." Booth replied. "But, speaking of Mrs. Riordan, there is something you might be able to help us clear up."

"What's that?"

"She's been taking care of Katie since Marcie disappeared and she never reported her missing. When I asked her about that she said she received a text telling her not to worry. The message said she was traveling with Q. Any idea who that might be, Mr. Hall?"

"Obviously you believe it was me. I can assure you it was not." He sighed with sincere regret. "I wish it had been true, then Marcie might still be with us and that sweet girl would have her mother."

"Mr. Hall, is there anything else you can tell us? Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to hurt her?" Sweets asked.

"No, I'm sorry. Marcie was a kind person who generally kept to herself. Everyone who knew her liked her."

Booth glanced at Sweets briefly before he looked back at Quentin. "Mr. Hall, thank you for your time. You're free to go."

As soon as Hall was out of the room, Sweets turned to Booth. "He's that little girl's father."

"No doubt," Booth affirmed. "He seemed genuinely upset about Marcie's death, too

Sweets shook his head. "I don't think he killed her. but he's holding back something else."

"Yeah, I'm not sure what, though. He clearly recognized the other two women, but I'm not sure why he lied about it."

Sweets was about to reply when Booth's phone rang.

"Booth... You didn't find anything at their houses, Turner? Well, maybe we'll get lucky and we'll get a hit from the B.O.L.O." Booth paused. "Actually, I need you to get back to looking at financial records... See if you can tie Quentin Hall's accounts to any of the three victims."

When Booth hung up the phone, Sweets raised an eyebrow. "If he'd 'have to be an idiot to leave behind that kind of paper trail', then why do you think there is one?"

Booth smiled. "He said he wouldn't leave behind a paper trail when trying to cover up a murder. He never said that he wouldn't leave one for something else."

B&B

"So, what now?" Sweets asked.

Booth maneuvered the SUV through the lunchtime traffic. "Now, we go and pay a visit to Sally Tanner."

"Alisha Tanner's sister?" Sweets asked.

"Yeah, we're supposed to meet her at SJH."

Sweets looked at him in surprise. "She works for Serena Hall?"

"For the last eight years. She was working there first and Alisha joined the company two years later."

"Do you have any background on their relationship?"

"Nothing official but Sally Tanner is at work the day after she filed a missing persons report on her sister and still asked us to meet her at work after we told her that her sister is dead. Maybe there's something going on there."

Sweets shrugged. "She could just be a hard working woman who can't afford to miss work. She could be holding it together in an attempt to pretend that things are normal. Or, she may not be that upset that her sister is gone. I'm reserving judgment until I have the chance to observe her behavior in person."

Booth nodded. "See if you get the big evil vibes from her."

Sweets smiled. "Exactly."

Booth's phone rang. "Booth. Hang on, Bones. I'll put you on speaker."

Brennan's voice came across the speaker. "Hodgins, Angela, and I have some information for you concerning the murder weapon."

"What have you got for me, Bones?"

"All three victims were struck on the occipital bone with a large rectangular object, made of wood." Brennan stated.

"What kind of wood?" Sweets asked.

"We found splinters in the wounds." Hodgins chimed in. "Looks like some type of hardwood, possibly birch."

Booth nodded. "Okay. So, any idea what this rectangular wooden object was?"

"I ran it through the computer and the only thing that matched was a commercial push broom, like a shop broom." Angela replied.

"So, is this broom special or generic?" Booth asked.

"Fairly generic." Angela answered. "It's not like people trick out their brooms, Booth."

"Yeah, I guess there's not a huge market for custom brooms."

"It is frustrating that our findings were not more helpful in determining the identity of the murderer," Brennan added.

"We're pretty much headed to broom central right now, Bones. Maybe we'll be able to get some more information from Alisha Tanner's sister."

Twenty minutes later, Booth and Sweets pulled up in front the McLean, Virginia offices of SJH Professional Services.

Booth walked into the break room with Sweets and approached the teary-eyed brunette sitting at the table by the window. "Sally Tanner?"

She looked up at them and motioned for them to sit. "Yes. Thank you for agreeing to meet me here, Agent Booth. I'm supervising the crew for a large event this evening, so I couldn't miss work today. Besides, I deal better with things when I keep busy." She glanced at Sweets. "Are you also an agent?"

Sweets shook his head. "I'm Dr. Lance Sweets, Agent Booth and I are associates." "

"Ms. Tanner, when was the last time you saw your sister?" Booth asked.

"It's been about three weeks now. We try to keep in contact, but it's hard sometimes with work and everything."

"Were you and your sister on good terms?" Sweets asked.

Sally smiled. "Only in the last few years."

"What do you mean?" Booth asked.

"We weren't close as children because we're so close in age. We spent most of our time fighting."

"What did you fight about?" Sweets asked.

Sally chuckled. "Mostly about her existence, and the fact that her birth turned me into the middle child, when I really enjoyed being the baby of the family."

Sweets smiled. "Sounds fairly normal. You did eventually come to an understanding, though?"

Sally nodded. "Yes. I finally realized that she wasn't the evil interloper that I'd made her out to be and she forgave me for hating her."

"Ms. Tanner, do you know why Alisha quit her job?" Booth asked.

Sally shook her head. "No, all she would say was not to worry and that she had a plan. I tried to tell her not to quit until she had a sure thing, but she wouldn't listen to me. She had just gotten promoted to a team leader position, like me."

"And you don't have any idea what her plan involved?" Sweets asked.

"No, all she would tell me was that it was big and was probably going to take care of her future, like she'd be set for life. She seemed so certain that this was her ticket and was unwilling to risk missing the opportunity by being too cautious."

B&B

Booth and Sweets returned to the Hoover building to see what Turner found in the victim's financial records. They set up camp in Booth's office. Booth's desk and table were covered with files, printouts, and the remnants of lunch.

"Well, it seems that Alisha Tanner really did have a big plan in the works to set herself up for life." Booth held up one of the files.

Turner looked up from the papers she was sorting through and nodded. "Apparently, so did Marcie and Tenelle."

"Well, I think that we got our answer about Marcie and Quentin Hall. The monthly payments to Marcie's account correspond with withdrawals from Hall's personal account," Sweets stated. "It looks like he was paying her child support."

"Looks that way," Booth affirmed. "I don't see any connection between Hall's account and the deposits that Alisha and Tenelle were making, though."

"Any correlation to Serena's accounts, Claude?" Sweets asked.

Turner shook her head. "Nothing. If either Serena or Quentin were the ones paying Alisha and Tenelle, they weren't taking the money from any obvious places. The deposits were in cash. Maybe they were being paid from some cash reserves?"

"Maybe. But why were they paid in cash when Marcie wasn't?" Booth asked.

"Because they were being paid for something that nobody wanted a paper trail for," Sweets answered.

Booth's eyebrows rose. "Blackmail?" He paused, but then nodded. "That tracks. Alisha and Tenelle could have found out about Quentin and Marcie and the blackmail was their big plan to make money."

"Yeah, but who were they blackmailing?" Turner asked. "Was it Serena or Quentin?"

"I don't think it was Serena," Booth declared, "She just doesn't seem the type to bow to that kind of pressure. I think she'd divorce her husband before she'd pay somebody off. Besides, she's the wronged party here. He cheated on her, so she'd look like the stronger person for not putting up with that."

Sweets nodded. "That makes sense with her personality. I think that she could find a way to rationalize accepting the affair, but paying someone to keep her husband's secret? No way would she go for that. Quentin had much more to lose."

Turner's brow furrowed. "Seriously? In this day and age? Why would he be concerned? It's not like he's the first guy to step out on his wife with the maid."

"He's pretty much a type A personality masquerading as a type B. He draws his sense of achievement from his perceived control over his personal life," Sweets replied.

"Okay, so he would definitely have paid the blackmail. Do you think Serena knew about the blackmail?" Turner asked.

Booth pulled out his phone. "Why don't we just ask her?"

* * *

><p>Booth put in the earpiece as he looked at Serena Hall through the observation window of the interrogation room. "Sweets, be on the lookout for the right time to push her. I don't want to risk her lawyering up before we get some answers."<p>

Sweets nodded. "No problem."

Booth walked into the interrogation room with Turner at his side. "Mrs. Hall, thank you for making time for me again. I asked Agent Turner to join us today because she's been working on the backgrounds of the other two victims."

Serena nodded curtly. "Agent Turner."

"Mrs. Hall, we've identified the other two victims as two of your former employees, Alisha Tanner and Tenelle Dawson. We were wondering if you could explain how you failed to recognize them when Dr. Brennan and I showed you their photos. These women worked for you for some time.," Booth said.

Serena shrugged. "I am a busy woman, Agent Booth. I don't know all my employees personally. And as I explained in that interview, I prefer to keep that professional distance. After hearing their names I do recall some detail."

"Mrs. Hall, do I need to remind you that withholding information from an FBI investigation is a federal offense?" Turner asked.

Serenda glared at the younger woman but her answer came in a calm, professional tone. "I'm not quite sure what you're looking for, but they were good employees and I was disappointed when they resigned. Of course, employees come and go; it's the nature of the business. Not many are looking to make custodial work into a career."

"But, you believed that Alisha and Tenelle _were_ looking to make it a career?" Turner asked unsurprised to find their suspect suddenly remembering more details.

Serena sighed. "It certainly did seem that way when they first joined the company. They were both thorough, hard workers and were very self-motivated. You didn't need to tell them what needed to be done, you just needed to point them in the direction of the work and it was done."

"So, how did they go from star employees in it for the long haul to quitting?" Booth asked.

"I wouldn't know. They didn't provide a reason when they resigned."

Booth leaned back in his chair. "I think they found a new source of income. Kind of like Marcie did. Somebody was paying her $10,000 a month."

"Agent Booth, if you wanted to talk about the money that my husband was paying Marcie in child support, you could have just said so," Serena answered haughtily.

Booth raised an eyebrow. "You knew?"

Serena scoffed. "Of course, I knew. The little girl looks just like Kelsey did at that age, except she has dark hair and dark eyes. I may be the rejected wife, but I'm not an idiot, Agent Booth."

"You don't seem too angry that your husband was sleeping with the help," Turner pointed out.

Serena smiled patronizingly. "So young. Agent Turner, I decided long ago that there were certain things I could live with as the wife of a powerful man. My husband loves me, but he has never been good at fidelity."

Sweets' voice came over the earpiece. "We need to get her off balance, Booth. She's way too comfortable with all of this."

"So, did his involvement with Alisha and Tenelle bother you?" Booth asked.

Serena laughed. "You actually think that he was sleeping with them, too? Quentin may be a cheater, but he _is_ more selective than that."

Sweets urged Booth again. "Try asking about the money."

Booth leaned forward and put both of his hands flat against the top of the table. "So, if he wasn't giving them some sort of allowance for being his girlfriends, who was paying them?"

Serena's jaw tightened and she spoke through gritted teeth. 'It certainly wasn't me. I don't believe in paying people when they did nothing to earn it."

"So, if you weren't paying them, then was it your husband? They were getting even more money than Marcie was and their money seemed to be coming from some untraceable source. Where was he getting that money from?" Booth asked.

"My money..." She hissed under her breath.

Booth raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said that you weren't the one paying them."

"No! That bastard was paying them with the cash from the safe at the house. That money came from my father's private safe. It was _my _inheritance and he used it as hush money for _my_ employees! I couldn't let him get away with it, so I used his money to clean up his mess." Serena said angrily.

"Clean up his mess?" Booth asked.

Serena sighed as she realized that there was nothing she could do to save herself now. "Alisha and Tenelle found out about Marcie's relationship with my husband and about Katie. They went to Quentin and threatened to reveal what they knew."

"But if you knew about Marcie and Katie, then why did he pay the blackmail?" Turner asked.

Serena smirked. "Because I'm not the one who has the most power over him. His father has that dubious honor, since he's the one who controls the purse strings."

"So, if his father found out, he'd cut Quentin off?" Booth asked.

"Like chaff from the wheat." Serena replied.

"So, why kill Alisha, Tenelle, and Marcie?" Booth asked.

Serena's face fell and tears filled her eyes. "Marcie was an accident. She overheard me talking to those imbeciles from the ice company about getting rid of the other two. She was going to go to the police and ruin everything. I had it all planned and it was all going to get cleaned up, I panicked."

"And you hit Marcie with the broom to stop her from ruining it all," Booth added.

Serena shrugged as swiped at her tears. "It was an impulse and it forced me to adjust my plan so that they all died the same way. I wasn't supposed to be the one who..."

Booth interrupted her. "But you did, Serena. You took three lives. Whether you intended to kill any or all of them, it doesn't matter."

"No, I guess it doesn't," Serena answered.

"And you sent the text from Marcie's phone telling Mrs. Riordan was traveling with your husband. Another attempt to implicate him?" Booth didn't need her nod to confirm he was correct.

"There's one thing I don't understand. I never saw mention of any inheritance in your financial statements," Turner said.

Serena sat back against her chair in defeat. "My father skimmed money from the chain of dry cleaners that he ran with his cousin Earl. In business for 40 years and he managed to clear $10 million. That money was supposed to be my safety net, that's why he gave it to me."

Turner whistled. "$10 million? Was he going through customer's pockets for loose change, too?"

Booth tried to glare at Turner, but couldn't hide his smirk as he stood up. "Serena Hall, you're under arrest for the murders of Marcie Rosales, Alisha Tanner, and Tenelle Dawson."

B&B

"Come on! Let's get a nice picture of the happy couple!" Angela said excitedly. "Come on, Paul! Kiss her!"

Cam and Paul laughed as they leaned toward each other for a kiss. Angela started snapping pictures rapidly. The kiss was interrupted by a squeal from Macon, who was rewarded by a kiss on the cheek from both of his parents.

Paul looked around the room. "I want to thank all of you for turning your post-case celebration into an engagement party for us. We didn't want to make too big of a deal out of this, because we already feel married. If things had gone according to our original plan, we'd have just quietly made it official and not made a big fuss but this is so much better. Thank you for reminding us that, though this step is not the most important part, it is still something worth celebrating."

Brennan raised her glass of sparkling cider and smiled. "To family!"

"Family!" Everyone chorused.

Booth stepped up behind Brennan and slipped his arms around her waist, resting his hands on her abdomen. "I love our family, Bones."

Brennan turned her head and smiled at him. "I love our family, too, Booth."

Angela leaned over to Cam and pointed at the partners. "You know, I always said I thought you'd wind up married with a baby before I got to see a sight like that and I wasn't far off."

Cam chuckled. "I know. I mean, I always thought that they belonged together but I don't think I truly realized that it was possible until recently."

Angela nodded. "Seeing them starting a family together does tend to make it seem more real."

Cam shook her head. "Honestly? I didn't even really believe it when they announced the pregnancy. I mean, I knew that they would be bound forever by the baby but just having a kid with someone doesn't make you a real family. Look at Booth and Rebecca. They're Parker's family, but they aren't family to each other."

"True, even when they're getting along well, there's a distance between them. It's like they're not quite friends and they're not quite enemies," Angela agreed.

"Exactly. I was afraid that if Booth and Brennan weren't on the same page about their relationship, they could end up like that and that thought made me sad because these two have been through so much to get here." Cam said softly.

Angela smiled. "But, you're not afraid of that now?"

Cam chuckled. "No, I'm not. Look at them. The two of them are in their own world and the rest of us just float around near their gravitational field."

Angela raised an eyebrow. "Where have you been? Those two have always been like that, even when they were fighting." She grinned. "Actually, especially when they were fighting. It's still so hot when they do that!"

Cam rolled her eyes. "Are you in perpetual adolescence or something? You're like one big walking hormone sometimes."

Angela grinned saucily. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Cam sighed. "The point is, Angela, that those two seem to have finally gotten where they need to be."

"And where is that?" Angela asked.

Cam smiled as she watched the partners, who were had struck up a conversation with her fiancé. "They're all in."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Join us next week when Hodgins' expertise is put to the test to save the life of someone close to him. Don't miss Jack Be Nimble by Squinttoyou.<strong>_


	6. Jack Be Nimble

Bones Season 7.5x06: Jack Be Nimble~ Written by Squinttoyou

Jack ran his fingers through his unruly mop of curls. His hand tightened to a fist and he held on as he waited. "Come on," he muttered into the ringing phone. When it once again was answered by voice mail he hung up. He resumed his pacing and the phone twirled between his hands in nervous release. "Ok, so don't panic," he lectured aloud. "It's only eight-thirty. Don't overreact. The last time she was late she just took the upgrade on her massage and forgot to let you know."

His steps had carried him around the room and back to the window and he paused to look out at the street below. It looked like any other evening, the neighborhood below bustled with activity and he could see several people strolling down the sidewalk. He searched the block carefully hoping to see the familiar silver form of Angela's hybrid parked on the street, hoping to find she was already making her way inside, but there was no sign of her car.

"Ok!" He said again, speaking aloud simply to fill the silence that was driving him crazy with worry. "She's fine. She's not lying in a ditch after an accident, she's a good driver. She's not in the hospital; someone would have called me by now. And it's the wrong time of year for her to make a run to Bora Bora, it's the rainy season." The joke fell flat even to his own ears and he lifted the phone. "Shut up, Hodgins," he told himself as he dialed.

B&B

"Hey, look, Wonka is on! I love this movie; let's watch."

Brennan glanced away from her reading. "Isn't this the same story you watched with Parker two weeks ago?"

"No, that was the much inferior 'modern' version. I like Tim Burton, but he should leave the classics alone. This version is much better." Booth rubbed her belly and then kissed her just above her ear. "Come on, Bones, put the science away and watch with me."

"I have work to do," she objected, although there was little conviction in her voice. She shifted so that she leaned against his chest and nodded at the journal she was holding. "You watch, I'll read."

Booth knew leaning against his chest meant she wanted him to hold her and he obediently put his arms around her. He also knew that if she was serious about reading that article she claimed was so important, she would not have moved closer to him. He watched the movie until the commercial break and then gave her what she really wanted.

"I don't like commercials, Bones. Kiss me."

"I'm reading," she admonished, brushing him away as if he were an insect.

"Please?" he begged making his voice both pitiful and sexy.

He knew this was the game she wanted when he saw her mouth lift in a satisfied smirk. An admission of guilt she quickly hid. Brennan turned to look at him and feigned a look of exasperation. "One," she agreed with reluctance.

Booth made sure it was a good one. When it ended, she made a sound of complaint and gave him a second kiss. There was a brief protest when he lifted her into his lap, given to keep her game alive, but she helped settle herself and even wiggled around until she was comfortable. And it was all done as she continued to kiss him. She sighed into his mouth when he pulled the journal from her hand and tossed it on the floor.

Booth loved this new playfulness she was exploring. He was honored she felt comfortable enough with him to explore this part of herself, to let go and just have fun like that. She was getting better at teasing and tempting him to do it her way and he would gladly follow. The movie had resumed but he barely noted it as he focused on the way she was thrilling him.

"You have got to be kidding me," he complained when their fun was interrupted by his ringing phone.

"Just answer it," Brennan said, her own disappointment clear.

"Why do they always call just when we are getting to the good stuff?" he asked as he reached around her to pick up his phone from where it lay on the coffee table.

"If you think that's the good stuff I'm not doing it right," Brennan worried and Booth shot her a grin as he answered.

"I'm freaking out."

The smile slid from Booth's face. "Hodgins? What's wrong?"

"I can't find Angela. She was supposed to be home a while ago, and she's not answering her phone, and I know I'm probably jumping to conclusions because that's what everybody always tells me I'm doing, but I think something is wrong."

The words were tumbling from the brilliant scientist and Booth struggled to keep up. "Hodgins, slow down. Take a deep breath." Brennan climbed off his lap and Booth shared her worried look.

There was the sound of Jack drawing air into his lungs and then he spoke with slightly more control. "Ok, yeah, facts, we needs facts, right?"

Brennan had slipped on her boots and handed Booth his shoes. He tucked his phone to his shoulder and began pulling on his footwear. "When is the last time you spoke to her?"

"Uh...two o'clock, something like that, she was going to get her nails done and then she was going to a gallery because her friend, Ramon, had a piece in the show. After that she might join Ramon for a drink, but she would never do that without telling me. She should have been home by now."

"She was going to a gallery to view a painting," Brennan supplied over Hodgins' words.

"I know, Bones," he soothed as he stood. "He just told me that." He moved to the wall safe and worked the lock with quick efficiency. When the door was open he retrieved his gun and tucked it in place. "You've tried calling her?" he asked as he closed the safe.

"Like fifteen times, man. You and I both know what is going on. It's Paisley! She's got her!"

"Hodgins, we don't know that. Stay calm. We're on our way. Think about her schedule for the day; we'll want to retrace her steps."

"Yeah, good idea. I'm going to do that."

"Jack!" Booth called, "stay on the line! We need a plan; you can't just go driving around."

"I'm not. I'll meet you at the lab. She left from there so we can trace her steps."

Booth could hear the sound of Hodgins' footfalls echoing in the stairwell as he and Brennan climbed in the SUV. Switching to speaker phone so Brennan could join the conversation he fired the engine and switched on his rolling lights to help clear their way.

Brennan was eager for information and she took over the conversation. "Hodgins, did you call the salon?"

"It's closed now, Dr. B. I would have if I'd thought something was wrong early enough." His voice cracked with panic as he continued. "Oh, God. What if she's been missing since this afternoon? I thought she was running errands and having fun. What if Paisley's had her for hours?"

"Dr. Hodgins," Brennan barked, trying to calm him and still the fear he was stoking in her own heart, "Speculation is the worst form of investigation."

"Yeah, yeah, ok," Hodgins agreed without sounding one bit calmer. "Um...ok, I'm in the garage," he reported. "I'll meet you guys..."

"Hodgins?" Booth called when the scientist trailed off. "Hodgins? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jack answered with distraction. "I just thought I heard something." He sighed and they heard the beep of an alarm as he unlocked his car. "I hate parking garages," he muttered to them. "Nothing good ever happens in a parking garage."

"We're on the Beltway now, Hodgins," Booth reported as he merged onto the highway. "We'll meet you at the lab."

"I'm on my way. Do you think..."

His question went unasked, replaced by a cry of alarm and then a yelp of pain.

"Hodgins!" Brennan called now desperately alarmed. "Jack!"

There was no answer.

* * *

><p>The tires squalled in protest as Booth turned the corner onto the second level of the garage. "There," Brennan called and he brought them to a quick halt. Both had their doors open and feet on the ground almost before they stopped moving. Jack's Jaguar sat in the parking slot, the door ajar, making it clear that the owner had not left with intent. Booth scanned the area looking for any sign of a clue, but there wasn't much to see. The mini-Cooper Jack loved so much sat next to the Jag and he was certain the empty spot next to it was reserved for Angela's hybrid. There were five other cars scattered on this deck, but the scene looked completely innocent.<p>

Brennan had hurried to the open car door searching for any hint of what had happened. There was nothing, but a glint of light in the shadow beneath the car caught her sharp eye and she dropped to her knees. She retrieved the item she found, careful to cover her hand with her shirt sleeve to prevent leaving fingerprints, and climbed back to her feet giving a soft grunt at the effort it took to lift her expanding form. "Booth," she called as she held up Jack's cell phone.

He crossed to her, his attention still on the perimeter, and gave a sigh as he looked at the phone.

"It would be foolish not to make certain assumptions at this point," Brennan lectured.

"Yeah, I know, Bones. She's back."

His arm circled Brennan's shoulders as she drew a shuddering breath and he pulled out his own phone. One button placed his call and he dropped a soft kiss to his partner's brow as he waited for an answer. "Dispatch, 22705, I need an evidence team and tactical at two-fifteen I Street Northeast; parking garage, second level. Make it quick, we don't have much time."

B&B

"Lance, wait!" Turner called as Sweets' long strides carried him up the arena steps far faster than she could go given the skin-tight, blue, leather jumpsuit she wore. She dodged a pair of portly men dressed as Orions, absently noting that they had used the wrong shade of blue for their skin tone, and then shouldered her way past a Klingon couple, ignoring the string of curses they shouted after her. "Lance!" When he didn't stop she drew a deep breath and broke into a run that she knew would cause chaffing in some rather personal spaces.

He was running too and she didn't catch him until they were just a few feet from the car. Her hand closed on his arm, the metal framework around her left hand making a clicking noise as she clamped her fingers tight. "Slow down," she scolded gently. "You want me to drive?"

He scowled at her and jerked the pointed, latex ears off his head. "I can drive," he argued belligerently, "It's my car."

"I know it's your car," she allowed. "I just thought since you were upset that maybe I should drive."

"I can drive," he repeated before stomping toward the driver's side. "I know I'm only a psychologist, but I don't need the big FBI agent to do it for me."

Turner sighed and moved to join him. She hadn't meant to imply he was incapable, but she did think his emotional state made her a better choice to be behind the wheel. He was tossing his sash and disruptor into the back seat and she waited until he reached for the key before she spoke, "It's not your fault."

He turned to her in disbelief, his hand frozen in mid-air, his head slowly shaking, the angular eyebrows he had painted on making his scowl even more pronounced. "Not my fault? How can you even say that? It's directly my fault. I was there, Claudia, I had hours to study her. I have every detail Cam can recall about her abduction and still I have nothing to help us find her. So, how is it not my fault that she now has Hodgins and Angela?"

"We don't know for certain it is her," Turner argued.

"Aw! Don't hand me that Brennan-inspired logic," he shouted. "You know it's her, Claud! We all know it's her."

"Ok, maybe it is, probably it is," she amended when he looked ready to argue. "But, just keep an open mind, ok? Hodgins is a target for lots of reasons that don't have anything to do with Paisley. This could be a normal kidnapping; someone looking to score big by snatching a billionaire."

"It's not," Sweets said as he turned the key. "It's her. It's Paisley."

He seemed a little calmer, as if his outburst at her had vented the worst of his panic. Turner watched him for several moments, noting the way his neck was corded with tension and the vice-grip he had on the steering wheel. Once again her costumed left arm reached out to him and this time her touch was soothing against his thigh. "You need to stop blaming yourself. We need you for this. You need to be able to think clearly."

Sweets' hand dropped from the wheel and he wrapped her hand in his. "I'm sorry we are missing the convention."

"We'll catch the next one," she answered lightly.

He squeezed her hand and then his dark mood returned. "This game she's playing is dangerous. Sooner or later someone will lose."

"Let's get to the lab and make sure the only loser is Paisley."

B&B

The feel of his stomach rolling and churning pulled Jack toward a reluctant awakening. His eyes opened and the dark room around him began to spin creating a discordant opposition to his nausea. He immediately clamped his eyes shut. The loss of sight helped and he breathed deeply as he fought for control of his traitorous stomach. When the worst of its turmoil had subsided he tried again. He lay still letting his eyes adjust to the darkness and making certain he had his stomach under control.

Aside from his nausea and dizziness he didn't seem to be injured. He had a terrible thirst and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but it was less of an inconvenience than the rolling in his gut. He lay on a cot, the wire netting beneath the thin mattress poking at his back, but he was not restrained in any way. Carefully flexing his limbs he tested each to make certain he had full use, all the while begging his stomach to settle down.

As he lay, breathing deeply to help calm his tummy, he tried to remember what had happened. Garage...he had been in the parking garage. He was on the phone with...Booth...and Brennan, he'd been talking to Brennan. Angela! As his memory cleared he bolted upright, the panic he had been feeling hours earlier back and even more acute as he experienced it all over again. Swinging his legs off the cot on which he lay, he struggled to his feet fighting against the renewed churning of his stomach. The room was dark, but he could see light filtering underneath a door and since he wasn't restrained he moved toward it.

"You should really stick around."

The mild warning in the female voice startled him, not from its tone, but by its closeness. Spinning quickly to face her, he felt his stomach rise in protest and he swallowed, determined not to lose control. He would never have known she was in the room if she hadn't spoken. She sat in the corner, a vague shape in the shadows, but he knew exactly who it was. "Why did you take me?"

She reached above her and turned on a small lamp. The dim lighting revealed her and Jack was startled to find both Sweets and Cam had underreported her beauty. She was bewitching; blonde hair, shapely legs, ample breasts, the entire package accentuated by a fetching dress that made her look like a girl waiting on a date rather than his abductor. Her blue eyes, however, held the coldness he expected and she answered with a calm, detached manner. "You are here because I want to see just how clever you are."

"I'm not playing your game," he threatened turning once more for the door.

"Yes you are," she answered and as if her words were a signal a second, brighter light flared to life revealing the entire room. "You would never leave without your wife."

Jack felt his heart stop as the new light revealed what he had missed. Angela lay on a bed on the far side of the room. He rushed to her still form the side effects of his own drugging forgotten. "Angie," he called but she did not respond. He shook her gently, trying to rouse her, but when he got no response he fearfully pressed his fingers to her throat. The rapid rhythm he found almost made him cry in relief. He pinched her cheek trying to push her to wakefulness, but she gave no reaction. She was limp, pale and a thin sheen of sweat glowed on her forehead.

"What have you done to her?" he demanded, glaring over his shoulder at Paisley who had not moved from her chair.

"That's for me to know and you to find out."

* * *

><p>Booth was on the phone but he took the cup of coffee Brennan offered him and gave a weak smile in return. He wasn't doing much more than acknowledging the information he was receiving, but his partner lingered, hanging on every grunt or 'ok' he spoke. When he ended the call he answered before she even asked her question, "There's no signal from Angela's phone, nothing they can trace."<p>

"Cam would like to go over the timeline," Brennan answered without giving much reaction to his report. She hadn't expected there to be a signal. Paisley wasn't that careless.

The team was gathered in Brennan's office and as the partners joined them they could overhear Cam speaking to the group. "First, I need to apologize. I'm trained to observe crime scenes. If I had done a better job with my own abduction we wouldn't be in this situation now."

"It's more my fault than yours, Cam," Sweets objected, "She's a psychopath; I'm the one who should be able to provide some answers."

"Don't start," Booth warned from behind them. "Cam, you gave us good intel, there just wasn't anything we could use. She kept you in the dark." He turned to Sweets. "And you," he began but then halted. "I'm sorry," he said as he rubbed his hand across his forehead, "but what the hell are you two wearing?"

"We were at a convention," Turner answered, trying to sound as if she didn't care about his reaction.

"Your Seven of Nine costume is quite good, Agent Turner," Molly whispered as she leaned in from the chair across from Claudia. "I recognized you right away."

"Thanks," Turner answered feeling both embarrassed and elated.

Booth shook his head at both the junior squint and the couple in costume. "Anyway," he said with exasperation, "what I wanted to say is that we can't afford the blame game. This is no one's fault. Assuming this is Paisley..."

"It is," several voices interjected as one.

"Then, we need to accept that and move on with the investigation. It's not the first time one of us has been kidnapped. It's happened to me and Bones, in the past, it can happen to any of us, but every time it does we need to make certain we are working as a team. That's how we find our bad guy."

Cam gave a nod of agreement and resumed control of the meeting. "We don't know much, but we do have some information. Angela took a half-day of vacation time and left here at noon with Brennan."

The anthropologist continued, "We had lunch at the vegetarian bistro on 10th street. She had an appointment at her salon at two o'clock, but when we parted she mentioned doing some shopping before she went there."

"Her spa appointment was at two," Cam resumed the narrative, "After that she was supposed to meet her friend for the gallery walk."

"The what?" Booth interrupted.

"The first Friday of every month the art galleries at DuPont Circle are open late for a gallery walk," Sweets answered. He saw Booth's expression and lifted his chin, "What? It's a good date night."

Brennan leaned toward Booth and spoke softly, "We should do that some time." Booth glared at Sweets, but didn't respond.

Cam was wearing an amused grin as she moved on, "Angela's car was found on J Street, so it's reasonable to assume she at least made it to the art district."

At this point Booth spoke up once again all business although he was holding Brennan's hand. "I had agents contact the gallery and spa owners. Angela did keep her appointment for nails and massage. The gallery owner didn't remember seeing her, but from him we got the contact info on her artist friend and he says Angela was there for about an hour. She left because she said she had one more appointment for the day."

"What appointment?"

Cam shook her head at Brennan's question. "We don't know. All we know is she didn't drive from the gallery so either it was close by or she was snatched leaving the art show."

"Perhaps information regarding the mystery appointment is on her computer?" Arastoo suggested. "Maybe there's a note or an email that would give us some idea of where she might have gone?"

Brennan nodded. "Mr. Vaziri, please use your time to audit Angela's files for such information." She paused for a second. "I have found that personal messages to a romantic partner often contain information you might not put anywhere else and that includes such mundane matters as daily errands. I do not wish to intrude on their privacy, but I believe we should also check Dr. Hodgins' computer for an indication of where Angela might have gone. Miss McDaniels, please assist Mr. Vaziri."

Both interns acknowledged the order. Brennan's direction made them all eager for such a concrete way to contribute and Booth stood. "Bones and I are going to go to Hodgins' and Angela's place and take a look around. We've already scoured the parking garage, but maybe there's something in the house that will give us a clue." He held his partner's hand and helped haul her to her feet. "Turner," he continued as Brennan gained her footing, "Cantilever needs an update. Hodgins changed the rules after his Gravedigger ordeal and they are going to need regular updates on our progress."

"Since we don't have Hodgins, I'm going to keep a close eye on the FBI techs doing the work on Angela's car," Cam reported.

"What do you want me to do?" Sweets asked as Booth gestured for Brennan to head toward the door.

"First thing I'd do is get out of those pajamas," Booth answered. He saw his joke did little to relieve the guilt he could still see in the younger man's eyes and he continued in a more serious voice. "Give some thought to what she might find intriguing about both Jack and Angela," he suggested. "Maybe if we can figure out why she found them interesting we can figure out where she took them."

B&B

Jack placed the cool rag on his wife's brow. It was the next step in his long attempt to wake her, so far nothing had worked, but he still held hope. Unwilling to give the watching Paisley the satisfaction of another of his rants he kept his fear in check and muttered to his wife as he gently pressed the cold cloth to her forehead. "Come on, Angie, baby."

A soft groan came from his patient and Jack's hope soared. "Angela," he called to her, "Angie, baby wake up." Angela began to stir and her hand lifted to her brow trying to swipe away the cold cloth. "No, leave it on," Hodgins scolded as he held it against her head. "Come on, Ange, wake up."

His last words held a note of command and she tried to respond. Her eyes fluttered open but she winced in pain and shielded them with her hand. Jack noticed and leaned over her. "Ange, does the light hurt your eyes?" She nodded and mumbled something unintelligible. "Let me see," Jack ordered. He leaned down so that his body blocked the worst of light from overhead. "Angela, open your eyes," he commanded.

She tried and he caught her hand when she moved it to once again protect herself from the glare. "Ange, how many fingers am I holding up?" He wiggled the three fingers he had in position in front of her eyes.

She shook her head and pushed his hand away.

"You don't know or you can't see clearly?"

"Blurry," she slurred.

"Well, that's not surprising given how dilated your pupils are," he mumbled. She moaned again and he looked down on her with concern. "What hurts, baby?"

"My head," she said her words mushing together in a slur. She held her hands to her head and her mouth worked. "Really thirsty," she managed to croak.

Jack quickly poured her a glass of water from the crystal pitcher Paisley had thoughtfully provided at the bedside. He slipped one arm around his wife and helped raise her up before tipping the glass to her lips. She drank greedily slurping so fast that quite a bit of the glass's contents dribbled down her chin.

"Go back to the party," she said patting his arm. "I'll be fine."

"What party? Ange, there is no party."

"I'm ok, go have fun," she answered still sounding intoxicated by the way her words ran together.

Jack eased her back on the bed and she was asleep again before her head hit the pillow. Making certain that her breathing was still regular and strong Jack pressed a worried kiss to her forehead. Then, consumed with anger he whirled to face the woman who had silently watched their entire exchange. "Why are you doing this?" he yelled.

"You are wasting time, Dr. Hodgins." She paused, her head cocked as if a thought had just occurred to her. "You know, I asked both Dr. Saroyan and Dr. Sweets what they preferred to be called. But, I never even considered calling you by another name. That's interesting, don't you think?"

Jack's fists balled and he took three quick steps in her direction. "What is wrong with her?" he screamed.

Paisley's demeanor remained calm but she did take two steps so that the chair she had been sitting in now stood between her and Hodgins. "You know I won't answer that. In fact, I won't answer any questions regarding your task. It is your task, Dr. Hodgins. And quite frankly I'm appalled that you are wasting what little time you have with these ridiculous histrionics. You only have so many hours before an antidote will cease to be useful. If you don't get to work your wife will be beyond saving."

"Antidote?" Jack repeated as he realized what was happening.

"Yes, of course. I'm sure if you put your mind to it you will discover what poison she has ingested. Then, it should be a relatively easy matter of telling me what antidote I should procure for her." She smiled winsomely at him, her bright, straight smile an artful display of innocence. "You should really get to work."

B&B

"You ready for this, Bones?"

"Just open the door, Booth," she answered. "We won't find any answers standing in the hallway." Her eyes lifted to his and she acknowledged his concern. "And, I'm fine."

Booth didn't really believe that, but he did know that she needed to pretend it was true. He turned the key and opened the door to the Hodgins' apartment. "We should always have a key to places we need to search," he joked as he pocketed the spare key they kept to the apartment.

"That would necessitate my friendship with victims prior to their crime," Brennan answered. "I would prefer not to repeat this scenario."

Booth felt like a heel for making her say those words and he moved to her. His arms wrapped around her from behind and he hugged her to his chest. "I'm sorry I said that," he apologized. Brennan leaned against him and he could feel her tension. "We'll find them, Bones. Paisley has let everyone go so far, and Hodgins is almost as smart as you, he'll figure something out."

"What if he doesn't?" she asked as she hugged his arm to her chest tightening his hold on her. "What if this time she doesn't let them go? What if they fail whatever task or tasks she has concocted for her amusement?"

"Jack isn't going to let anything happen to Angela," Booth promised. "I know he's just a squint, but he loves her. Love can help a man do almost anything, Bones." He kissed her temple and held her and she allowed it.

Her eyes were moving around the room, searching, cataloging everything she saw, but without her usual clinical study. "They are my family, Booth," she finally said. Her hand dropped to her belly and she rubbed the swell as she continued. "They were my family when I didn't have a family. I don't want to lose them just before I gain a real one."

"We won't lose them."

Brennan sighed and her body straightened enough that he had to let her go. "I know you are trying to comfort me, Booth and I love you for it. But, we have lost family before. Please don't promise me things you can't insure."

"Ok," he agreed, knowing the loss of Zach was still new enough that he couldn't deflect her pain. "I can't promise, Bones. But, I can promise that we will do everything we can to find them. And, if we are lucky enough that they come home we won't stop until we figure out who she is and how she's doing this. Sooner or later she will lose this game."

Brennan's eyes held approval and she gave that curt little nod he recognized as her most professional, controlled, agreement. "I'm going to take a look in the bedroom. I suggest you start in the living room."

B&B

"Do you have everything you require?" she asked solicitously.

"I'm missing a medical degree and a hospital quality lab," Jack answered tersely without looking away from the beaker in which he was pouring a vile of water.

"Oh, I don't think those are necessary, not for a man like you, Dr. Hodgins." Paisley gave him a winsome look. "It has become quite clear to me that you are quite brilliant. Any rich boy can prolong their education enough years to complete multiple degrees, but your study was actually about study not fun. You earned top honors in each of your program's Dr. Hodgins. You don't need an MD to determine what is wrong with Angela. You are a scientist; a very good one."

"I'm an entomologist, a botanist and a mineralogist!"

"Yes, I'm quite aware. I know a great deal about you, Dr. Hodgins. If you had not ignored me, you might know a bit more about me."

"Oh, here we go," Hodgins sneered. "Sweets said you thought we ignored you."

"Dr. Sweets talked about me?" she asked with eager enthusiasm.

"Yeah, you drug and abduct a guy we tend to talk. Like to the cops."

He was ready with his setup, or at least he thought he was and he stepped back to survey his work space. Paisley had set up half the room as if it were a mini-lab. The equipment was rudimentary, but he seemed to have most of the basic equipment and supplies. In addition to the standard chemistry set he also had a large stack of textbooks and resource materials on plants, minerals and insects. That seemed a clue and he was operating under the assumption that Angela's condition was the result of an infection or contagion transmitted by an organism or element he should be able to identify.

He turned and looked at his wife who still lay unconscious on the bed across the large room. Now all he had to do was figure out what her symptoms were. Willing his hands to stop shaking, he picked up the equipment he needed and crossed to her bedside.

"Ange, I have to draw some blood," he explained as he knelt at her side. He wasn't sure she could hear him, but talking to her was always the best part of his day and it helped him now. She lay limp and sallow looking on the white sheet and he pulled the covers up to make certain she was warm enough. Carefully, he pulled her arm from beneath the sheet and lay it on the bed with the veins exposed. She didn't react to the alcohol swab he swiped against her skin, but when the needle pierced her vein she rallied.

"Don't move, Babe," he ordered, trying to prevent her from hurting herself. The vile filled as her blood spurted with each beat of her heart and he quickly pulled the needle free.

"All done," he vowed as he applied pressure to the site.

"Jack asked me to marry him, Dad," she answered, clearly disconnected from the reality around her. "Are you going to be able to make the ceremony? I know you are busy, but a girl really needs her dad to walk her down the aisle when she marries her prince charming."

"I'll be there, Darlin'," he answered in his best imitation of Billy's drawl.

Angela wore a smile as she slipped back to sleep. With his blue eyes brimming with tears Hodgins bent and kissed her forehead. Then he stood and marched to his work station.

* * *

><p>Molly gasped in shock and then quickly closed the email she was reading. Arastoo was seated next to her and he looked over in sympathy. "Another one?"<p>

The young redhead nodded. "They are very open with one another regarding their desires."

"They are married," he pointed out as he returned to his own search. "I find it a little creepy to be trolling through their computers this way. Some things should remain private, even for these two."

"It's romantic, really," Molly argued as she opened the next email.

Arastoo gave her an amused grin. "Embarrassing, but romantic and completely lewd," he listed.

"It would be wonderful to have someone like that," the girl admitted with a shrug, "Someone who could know your most intimate thoughts, someone to love you so much that they thought of you often in the day and let you know it."

"I'm sure you'll find someone someday, Molly," he assured her. "You are a very sweet girl."

She blushed, her cheeks pinking behind her freckles and she gave him a grateful smile. "Your girlfriend is very lucky, I think."

"I'd like to think so," he agreed with a chuckle. "So, what would he be like, this man that will send you lascivious emails?"

"I don't know," she said deflecting the question with an embarrassed shake of her head.

"Yes, you do," Arastoo pressed.

She looked into his friendly face, saw his sincerity and his encouragement and returned the secretive smile he wore. "Handsome," she admitted hesitantly, "A strong, masculine face with a square jaw and maybe a little scruff." She paused seeming to focus on something only she could see and then spoke with more certainty. "He has beautiful, expressive eyes and he's caring, surprisingly gentle. He looks like a good boy, but there's a rough side to him, it makes him exciting." She fell silent for a moment as she contemplated her dream man and then seemed to shake off her daydream.

"He is..." Arastoo said as her words caught his sharp attention. "So you have your eye on someone?"

She immediately shook her head with embarrassment. "No, of course not, that would be inappropriate." She sat up straight and tried to appear more professional as she continued. "I'm just a girl who likes to dream. Maybe there's an alpha-male with a caring heart out there, or maybe I've just seen too many movies. Either way, such foolishness won't help us find out what happened to Angela or Dr. Hodgins. We should get back to work."

Arastoo agreed and resumed his work, but he couldn't help think that the blush that had accompanied her denial only proved that her description of her Prince Charming was someone very real.

B&B

"Hey," Turner said to the three at their table as she took her seat.

"Hello, Claudia," Brennan answered.

"You guys already order?" the agent asked as she watched Brennan spear a piece of fruit and pop it into her mouth.

"We did, but the waitress brought Bones a snack," Booth explained. "There was an 'incident' last week that they would like to avoid repeating."

"It was not an incident," Brennan objected as she shoved another bite of fruit into her mouth.

"Bones, you threatened to strip the cook's body down to bone and hide the evidence in some jungle if you didn't get food right that minute."

"It was a joke."

"It was scary. You are scary when you are hungry."

"The baby is hungry," Brennan said with a dismissive shrug. "The required increase in caloric intake necessitated by pregnancy can have an adverse effect on my emotional response."

Cam and Turner both wore grins as they listened to the couple across the table. Booth saw their amusement and scowled at them both. "Knock it off," he ordered. "Where are we on things?"

Cam's smile disappeared and she slumped in her chair. "No one will be shocked to hear me say the FBI techs found nothing in Angela's car. I can't even blame this one on them. I'm sure even Hodgins would come up empty. There are no fingerprints other than Hodgins, Angela and Brennan."

"We took Angela's car to yoga on Tuesday," Brennan explained.

"So no anomalous prints, no blood, no dirt, not a damn thing that might tell us who took her," Booth growled. "Again."

"If I get my hands on Paisley she's going to regret it," Turner said with the same frustration.

"We'll get her," Cam vowed.

"Yeah, but before or after Lance becomes completely obsessed?" the younger woman worried. "He's in his office right now working like a fiend. I can't get him to eat or take a break. He just keeps saying that he will find what we need."

Cam was frowning with concern. "You don't think he's going off the deep end do you? We already went through that when Hodgins was so focused on Creeps McGee."

"Sweets isn't going to tip into crazy like Hodgins did," Booth argued. "He's just pissed that she keeps getting away. Let him go, the kid usually comes up with something we can use." The waitress arrived with their food and Booth slid his plate away from Brennan before he picked up his sandwich. "One thing I've been wondering about is why the change in MO?"

"Taking two at a time," Turner restated.

"Yeah, it's a lot riskier. Why take that chance?"

"Leverage," Brennan answered.

"Bones?"

She finished chewing the bite she had taken and swallowed. "She took them both so she had leverage over one. If someone threatened you, Booth, I would comply with whatever task was given me to insure your safety. Angela and Hodgins love each other just as much as we do."

Cam watched as Booth slid his plate closer to his partner and then kissed her cheek. "You know," she said to Turner who was also watching their companions, "cranky when she's hungry isn't the only way that baby has affected her."

B&B

The longer the process took the more his panic rose. Unable to stare at the test he was running for one more second he stepped away from his little lab and went to check on his wife. Kneeling at her side, he brushed her hair from her damp brow and then kissed her forehead. "I'm working on it, Ange," he promised softly. "I'll find it."

"Wow."

He turned and glared at the woman seated in the comfortable chair across the room. Paisley seemed unconcerned about his anger and she shifted into a more relaxed position. "It's like watching one of those ridiculous romance movies," she said with a smirk.

"There is nothing ridiculous about love." Jack stood and turned so he could face her, instinctively wanting to protect Angela from their tormentor even if it was only her words that threatened.

"Ah, love...a good man will do anything for love. You don't buy that load of manure do you?"

"You don't believe in love?"

"I understand love very well, Dr. Hodgins. It is a fabrication, a lie, an idiot's folly."

"That's sad."

"No," she snapped with a hint of fire. "I think it is quite accurate. Lust, desire, those are real. But that fluffy-cloud-romantic-forever crap is nothing but rubbish. How many partners did you have before you married her?" she asked. "How many did she have? And you don't think she 'loved' them all? It's a farce, Dr. Hodgins." She paused and considered her next thought before she spoke. When she did her tone shifted to a more agreeable note. "It is however a wonderful tool. I've had absolutely no trouble gaining your cooperation."

"It's not cooperation," Jack began. A noise behind him ended his response and he whirled around to find Angela convulsing violently. Her body shook and her head thumped against her pillow with violent spasms. "Angela!" he cried and sank to his knees. He held her as the convulsion continued, his tears trailing her cheek.

"Really, Dr. Hodgins," Paisley called. "If you continue to play nursemaid you will never complete your task on time."

* * *

><p>Booth might have missed her if he hadn't heard her sniffle. The woman he loved wasn't a crier. She was too strong for that, too much in control of herself and her emotions, too analytical. Except that lately he'd endured more than a few tears. Whether it was her pregnancy or just the change in her that their relationship had caused he wasn't sure, but he could recognize that little hiccup she gave when the tears started. He changed direction and entered Angela's office. "Bones?"<p>

She sat up making room for him to sit beside her on the couch. "I'm fine, Booth," she said as he wrapped an arm around her. "It's just my elevated hormones."

"And your best friend is missing." He added softly.

"She's going to be fine," Brennan said but there was little conviction in her voice. She leaned against him and he tightened his hold silently providing the comfort she wanted. "She was talking about us raising our children together," she whispered. "At lunch yesterday, I mentioned my next obstetrics appointment and she found it exciting. She was hoping that the adoption process would soon yield results because she wanted to become a mother and share that experience with me."

"You will, Bones," he said and brushed his lips against her head. "Everything is going to be ok."

"You always tell me that. Even when you have absolutely no reason to believe it to be true you make that promise to me."

"Did I ever tell you about the time I promised Kenny DiGiacinto that I could get him free candy?"

Brennan's head lifted from his shoulder. "This is relevant?"

"Kinda," he said as he pulled her close again. "Just listen. We need to share a secret today anyway." Brennan snuggled back into his arms and he paused to gather his thoughts. "When I was in the fifth grade, Kenny D was the biggest, meanest eighth-grader on the block. He used to pick up kids and shake them until stuff fell out of their pockets."

"That's an exaggeration," Brennan protested.

"Ok, maybe he didn't shake you, but he did pick kids up and not let go until they gave him their money. I know because one day he did it to me."

"I would imagine you did not take that well."

"I didn't, but the guy was three times bigger than me, I didn't have much choice. The problem was the only money I had was my emergency money. I always kept a dollar in my pocket so if Jared and I had to stay away from the house I could buy us a snack. So, I couldn't give Kenny my emergency dollar, but if I didn't give him something he was gonna pound me."

"What did you do?" She asked, leaning closer.

Booth's mouth lifted in a grin at hearing her infatuation with the story. "Everybody knew that the reason Kenny was looking for money was so he could buy candy. The guy had a real sweet tooth. So, I blurted out that if he let me go I could get it for him for free."

Her eyebrows shot up. "How?"

"I had no idea," Booth admitted, "but it made him let me go. I told him to meet me in an hour outside my dad's barber shop. He showed up five minutes early and I still had no idea how to keep my word. And then it happened." He grinned, almost mischievously. "Candy fell out of the sky."

"Booth," she scolded. "These are supposed to be truths we share."

He held one hand up, palm out. "I swear, Bones that is exactly what happened. Candy fell out of the sky. Hit that big dumb bully right upside the head!"

Brennan huffed in frustration. "Booth! What _really_ happened?"

He laughed at her expression. "Alright, alright...the candy didn't exactly fall out of the sky...more like the window." At her nod, he continued, still smiling. "My dad kept a jar of candy on the shelf beside his chair for when he cut kids' hair. And I guess that was sort of my plan all along, to go in the shop and sneak a few pieces for Kenny. Stealing from my dad was about the stupidest thing I could have tried, but I didn't have many options and no time. Well, it turns out that right about then, my old man was working on a kid named Brian Fellini, and he was screaming the whole time Dad was trying to cut his hair. After a cut the old man usually offered that jar to kids as a reward for sitting still. When he offered it to Brian the kid was still throwing a fit and he shoved it away. My dad lost his grip and candy went everywhere, including a couple of pieces that just happened to end up flying out the window."

"That is a fortunate series of events."

"It is."

Shaking her head, Brennan decided that this was one of those times that she was just going to have to go with whatever point Booth was making. "So, I should have faith that Angela and Jack will be returned unharmed because once when you were a child you made a foolish promise and it all worked out."

"Exactly." He nodded slowly.

"That is horrible logic, Booth."

"Gotta have faith, Baby." He twirled a strand of her hair around his fingers. "Sometimes you just have to believe it will all be ok."

Brennan rested against his shoulder as she considered his words. Their agreement required her to now share a story from her own past and she searched her memory for something fitting this moment. "I don't have many examples of things 'working out for the best'," she began. "But there was one time."

"Yeah? See! What happened?"

"When I was eight I contracted the flu. I missed several days of school."

"Sounds horrible," he joked.

Brennan swatted his stomach and grinned sheepishly. "It was. I was very distressed. I missed all the practice rounds for that week's spelling test. Our class was engaged in a contest and I had to take the actual test on the day of my return without preparation."

"And you failed it?"

"Of course not!"

Booth chuckled at her indignation. "So how did it all work out for the best?"

She lifted her head and gave him a grin that revealed she was still proud after all these years. "I had the highest score and earned the right to represent the class in our school spelling bee."

"Bet you won that too, huh?" he asked as he hugged her.

"Yes." Brennan sighed and again settled more comfortably into his embrace. "We can hope, Booth, but that doesn't guarantee they will come back safe."

"Jack and Angela are squints, Bones. They aren't as super squinty as you, but they are pretty amazing. Have some faith in that."

"I can do that."

B&B

Jack flipped through the pages of the tome before him searching for the answer. He was right on the verge, he knew it, but it wouldn't come to him. He had ruled out most minerals as the culprit and he was reasonably certain it wasn't insect venom. A poisonous plant seemed the most likely cause of Angela's condition and he skimmed through the pages looking for a description that matched her symptoms.

"Sensitivity to light, slurred speech, delirium and confusion," he muttered as he read a list matching the signs he was trying to match. "Damn, she doesn't have a discoloration of the skin or blood in her stool." He flipped the page and continued his search. "You have to be a solaneles," he grumbled aloud. "I know you are." His finger was moving over the page and it suddenly frozen. Leaning forward he read the description again. When he read it the third time he was certain.

"So, you have an interest in ancient English history?" he asked. "Or is it Shakespeare you fancy?"

Paisley smiled slightly and stood. "Any educated reader has an interest in Shakespeare, Dr. Hodgins."

"I'll guess your favorite play is Macbeth, then?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Because it's nightshade," he answered triumphantly. "You poisoned my wife with atropa belladonna, just like Macbeth poisoned Harold Harefoot."

Paisley moved to the door and for the first time since the ordeal had begun the exit opened. Hodgins moved quickly to prevent his captor from leaving. "You promised," he reminded her. "You said if I found it you would give her the antidote."

"Of course I did," Paisley agreed as if he were silly for doubting her. She pushed the door open further, revealing her partner who stood in the doorway holding a black case. "I have it right here. Excellent work, truly, Dr. Hodgins," she complimented as she took the case and walked toward Angela. "It was most impressive."

Jack followed and anxiously took Angela's limp hand in his. "Whatever, just give her the medicine."

"Certainly," Paisley agreed as if he were asking her to pass the salt shaker. She lifted a syringe and pressed the plunger to insure it was ready. "I'll give Angela her injection just as soon as you take yours."

Jack was focused on Angela and it delayed his reaction. The needle pierced his skin before he could bolt away.

B&B

Turner slowly walked up the stairs to the Jeffersonian lounge where Booth was getting a much-needed caffeine boost. "Boss?"

Booth turned, "Turner?"

"I know that you're not fond of me talking about my personal life but I was wondering…" She trailed off as she reached for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup.

"What's going on?"

"It's Lance, he's just…he's not himself." She grabbed a handful of sugar packets and shook them back and forth before dumping them into her cup, "He's not sleeping, and he's going into the office before the sun comes up and not coming home until after it's gone down."

"We're all on edge right now, you know?" He leaned against the railing, "Chasing a serial psycho takes a lot out of you."

"That I understand but he's so…so focused. And even at home he's distant and…and the only way I can describe it is he's hard."

Booth sighed knowing that there was a time not so long ago that any woman living with him could have said the exact same thing about him, "It'll pass, Turner. I can't tell when but I know that it will."

Claudia took a stinted sip of her coffee before asking, "I know what you said at the diner, that he won't get all crazy and to let him do his thing. And, I agree he's brilliant, if anyone can figure her out its Lance, but I just can't shake this feeling. I was wondering. Could you maybe…I don't know, talk to him?"

While Booth inwardly groaned, outwardly he offered Claudia a smile, "Yeah, I'll check in on him."

"Thanks, boss." Turner took one final swig of her coffee and tossed the cup in the trash.

Booth let her get about halfway down the stairs before he called out, "You owe me one, Turner." He was contemplating just how he had managed to get so tangled up in the personal lives of colleagues when he saw the reason walking through the lab below. Tossing his cup in the trash he hurried after her. "Bones!"

Brennan turned and waited for him wearing what looked to him like a tired smile. "I want you to rest for a while," he said as soon as he reached her.

"I will," she said without commitment as she resumed her purposeful walk.

"I kind of meant now, Bones."

"I know what you meant Booth, I'm pregnant, not stupid."

"You are far from stupid, Baby."

She rolled her eyes at his sweet tone and sexy smile. "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Don't try to charm me into doing what you want by using that smile."

"What smile?"

"The one that usually means you are offering to make me feel good."

Booth pulled her to a halt, his arms sliding around her, holding her close. "You've been on your feet for hours. It's been over thirty-hours since Hodgins disappeared. We got very little sleep last night. You know as well as I do that those things are taking a toll on you. All I'm asking is that you lie down and rest, Bones." He employed his smile again. "Come on, I'll make you feel good."

"Booth, I am not in the mood and this is not an appropriate time for sex in my office."

The very mention of it gave Booth a mental image of the last time they had used her office for a bit of fun but he resisted the temptation to mentally relive it. "A foot rub, Bones. I'm offering you a foot rub."

"Oh." She broke from his arms and continued her walk to his office. "That might be enjoyable," she admitted.

"Great, then come get comfortable," he ordered, gesturing to her couch as they entered her office.

Brennan had not stopped her purposeful walk. "I have to go to the bathroom, first."

Booth flopped down on the couch and pulled his tie loose. He probably wouldn't sleep, but he might as well be comfortable as he tried to coax his partner into some real rest. His head fell back against the sofa and he closed his eyes taking advantage of the moment's quiet. It was a brief moment that ended with a sharp knock at the door. He looked over his shoulder and found Sweets leaning through the doorway.

"Booth? Claudia told me you needed me?"

"She doesn't waste any time does she?" Booth mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

Booth stood up and waved his handle casually, "Nothing… "

Sweets entered the room and came closer. "Are there any updates?"

"No, it's not that I just… How are you holding up?"

Sweets' brow furrowed, "Fine, same as you. Why?"

"No reason, I just know that these types of cases can have a major impact on all parts of your life."

Crossing his arms across his chest, Sweets sighed, "What did Claudia say?"

Booth wanted to keep this conversation as short as possible so he didn't lie, "She said that you're maybe a little too focused on catching Paisley."

"How is that possible? She's a psychopath who drugged and kidnapped me and Dr. Saroyan! And more than likely has Angela and Hodgins right now, doing god knows what to them. So yeah, I'm a little too focused but I think it's more than called for."

"You're right, to a certain extent." Booth rubbed his hands together as he continued, "We're only going to have this talk once so, listen good. Do not risk the life you have, at home with Claudia, to catch the person who could have taken that life away from you. Trust me, it's not worth it. Keep working the case, yes. Stay on the top of your game, yes but don't let it taint the good things you have. It could take us years to catch Paisley but if you are alone when we do, the win will feel empty and that's almost worse than not winning at all."

"You think I'm losing her?"

"No, not even close. All I'm saying is don't screw it up."

Brennan returned and Sweets watched as she crossed the room to join them. The scientist stopped and perched on the arm of the sofa and her hand fell naturally to Booth's neck. He could see her fingers caressing the agent as she spoke. "Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, Dr. Brennan," Sweets answered. "Everything is fine. Booth was just giving me some very good advice."

B&B

"Dr. Saroyan, do you have a moment?"

"We have no evidence, no leads, and no ideas of where to find them," Cam answered dryly. "I have several moments, Mr. Vaziri."

Arastoo stepped through the doorway he had been standing in and crossed to Cam's desk. "I have a concern," he said as he took his seat.

Cam's eyebrow lifted. "What about my lab concerns you, Mr. Vaziri?"

"It's..." he paused suddenly feeling reluctant to voice his concern. "Please remember that I only bring this up because of true concern for the parties involved."

"Your discretion and adherence to decorum are legendary," she assured him. "What's up?"

"I have a concern about a fellow intern."

Cam leaned forward. "It's a competitive environment, Arastoo," she reminded him. "I'm surprised Brennan doesn't have you doing anthropological face offs to prove who gets the top grades."

"Not that type of concern," he corrected. "And, I would totally win a face off."

"Then what is the problem?"

Arastoo looked to the door to make certain they were still alone. Turning back to Cam he looked embarrassed at his words. "I believe Molly may have developed an unfortunate infatuation with Agent Booth. I obviously can't bring this to Dr. Brennan's attention."

"Why not?" Cam asked. "I'm sure Brennan would find it as amusing as I do."

"Amusing?"

"Molly does have a crush on Booth, that has been obvious for some time."

"This seems more than a crush," Arastoo argued fearing she didn't understand. "We were reading some rather personal messages between Dr. Hodgins and Angela."

"I'm sure you were," Cam agreed under her breath.

Arastoo bobbed his head to indicate the intensity of those messages. "Molly remarked that while it was uncomfortable to read them she was envious of such devotion. We started talking and I asked her what she was looking for in a man."

"And?"

"And she described Agent Booth."

"She said that? That she was interested in Booth?"

"No, but she described him. There wasn't much doubt who she was talking about. She even referred to him as an alpha male with a caring heart."

"Well, that is Booth," Cam admitted. "Look, Arastoo, if Molly wants to fantasize about Booth she won't be the first. I think you are reading far too much into this. Besides, Booth is a big boy and Brennan is fiercely territorial. I don't think one shy intern is going to be a concern to either one of them."

"It was very concrete," he added unwilling to let it go. "I don't think she was speaking in the abstract. She was thinking of someone specific and, well, there just aren't that many people like Agent Booth."

"I appreciate the concern, Mr. Vaziri," Cam answered and it was clear she was done with this conversation. "I'll keep an eye open."

Arastoo heard the dismissal and rose from his seat. Thanking her for her time he left and Cam watched him go with a smile. She realized Brennan's interns were fiercely loyal, but the idea that sweet and innocent Molly McDaniels would ever be so forward as to make a play for Booth was comical. "Still," she said aloud as she turned back to the police reports she was scanning as part of her futile search for something related to Paisley, "a girl has to have a dream man. If Molly managed to find one even a little bit like Seeley Booth, she'd be doing all right."

B&B

"Booth," he answered softly, hoping to avoid waking Brennan who had finally managed to doze off. He didn't want that disturbed for anything less than the Hodgins' return.

"Boss, we just got a call from Park Security."

"And?" he demanded jumping to his feet and dumping Brennan's feet from his lap.

"One of their officers just found both Hodgins and Angela. You were right; they were dropped at a memorial. The Korean War Memorial this time."

"We're on our way," Booth said as he pulled the now fully alert Brennan to her feet.

"Korean War," he reported to his partner who was quickly pulling on her shoes.

"I told you to have them all watched," Brennan lectured as they hustled toward the parking garage.

"Manpower, Bones," he answered with an injured tone, "There are over 160 monuments in the district, I can't have them all watched."

She grunted but didn't object further and Booth accepted that as a winning argument. The drive to the monument was short, but they still arrived after the initial response. Rolling lights from both cop cars and an ambulance signaled the location of their missing colleagues.

"They are fine," Turner reported as they neared the scene. "Angela was poisoned, but we think she's been given the antidote. Hodgins seems to be recovering well." She gestured to the ambulance where they could see the couple being loaded for transport. "They are taking them in for a complete checkup now."

"Security footage?" Booth asked as he surveyed the site.

"I already requisitioned it," the younger agent reported.

"Witnesses?" Brennan asked.

"None really, but the security guard did report that he thought he saw someone. But, in the dark, and with all the statues, he convinced himself it was his imagination."

"Damn," Booth muttered as he scanned the field of bronze soldiers scattered across the monument. "If it was her, that's a close call."

"Not close enough," Turner grumbled.

"I want to talk with the security guard," Booth decided. "Maybe he saw more than he thinks he did."

* * *

><p>"Are you sure I can't get you something?"<p>

Angela smiled and squeezed the hand she held. "I'm fine, Sweetie, honest." She pointed at the monitors above her hospital bed. "See, scientific proof."

Brennan returned the squeeze and the smile of her friend. "You should not hesitate to ask if you require anything."

"What I want is to catch this crazy bitch," Hodgins announced from the next bed.

"I think we all want that," Cam agreed. "I'm more than a little tired of these cases we can't wrap. First Creeps, now Paisley."

"As much as I hate her," Hodgins argued, "I can tell you Paisley doesn't come close to Creeps. He was brilliant and completely evil. Paisley is delusional, but she doesn't have the same darkness."

Sweets spoke up from where he leaned against the wall. "She might not display the same darkness, but she's a true female psychopath. You can't take for granted the fact that you guys came through this more or less ok. A time may come where one of us doesn't. Even though she seems goal-oriented right now, she can be unpredictable and can strike at any time." "We just have to keep working it," Booth lectured. "These things can take time."

"I wish I could give you more information," Hodgins worried aloud. "My statement is pretty much useless."

"It's better than mine," Angela noted. "I don't remember a damn thing."

"She's taking her time and preparing well," Sweets reminded them. "She's prone to impulsive behavior, but she's intelligent enough to not be reckless."

"Which means," Booth said, "that she probably already has a plan for her next step. So everyone should continue to be careful."

"There are a limited number of us she has yet to take," Brennan stated as if she weren't the one in danger.

"I well aware of that, Bones. That's why you are going to be under constant watch." He shook his head as her eyes filled with the familiar stubborn glare. "You are vulnerable right now, Bones. Until the baby comes I'm not taking a chance; with either of you."

Brennan's hand caressed her expanding middle and the defiance in her eyes softened a bit. "I'll be careful, Booth, but I accept it is not my own safety that is triggering your need to protect me. And I will insist that you also remain vigilant. Don't make me worry about you."

Booth's smile was soft and intimate. "Okay, Bones." The look the partners shared seemed to raise the collective temperature in the room and everyone wore a smile.

"Okay, you have our statements, as uninformative as they are," Jack said as he struggled out of his bed. "I appreciate everyone's concern, but I think Angela needs some rest."

"Speaking of protective males," Cam drawled as she and Turner rose from their seats.

"He's kind of cute when he's shooing two federal agents, his boss, and a black belt from the room," Turner answered.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a real stud," Hodgins responded. "We'll see you all tomorrow."

"A real stud with a nice ass," Sweets said pointing to the back of Hodgins' gaping hospital gown.

"Out!" the scientist ordered as the team chuckled and left the room.

Angela was grinning as he turned to face her. "It's a sexy ass too," she noted with an eyebrow wiggle.

"You want to see it again?" he offered as he neared.

Angela lifted her blankets and he took the hint. With minimal effort they were soon snuggled together in the bed. Angela clung to him and Jack held her tight. "You ok, Babe?" he asked as he felt their playfulness shift to a somber silence.

"I haven't said thank you." She drew a shuddering breath as her emotion threatened to get the better of her. "Thank you for saving me, Jack." She kissed his cheek and her fingers stroked his beard with tender concern. "Are you ok?" she asked. "I know you were scared."

"I was scared for you." He shifted so that he lay on his side and could look at her face. "I was scared I would fail you. I couldn't let that happen." He kissed her gently before he finished. "I would die for you, Angie." His voice cracked and his tears fell just as hers were. "I am your guy. I will never let you down."

"My guy with the nice ass," she said wearing a smile filled with love. "How did I get so lucky?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Join us again next week when the suspicious death of three underwater explorers reveals a shockingly scandalous secret among them in Rub A Dub Dub by Rynogeny.<strong>_


	7. Rub A Dub Dub

Bones Season 7.5x07: Rub-A-Dub-Dub~ Written by Rynogeny

Cam clicked her phone shut with a sigh of relief as she started out of her office. This change in plans was going to greatly simplify things – and possibly prevent Booth and Brennan from murdering one another.

Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she slowed – but didn't stop – to acknowledge Sweets' arrival at the lab.

"I was in session with a client, but came over as soon as I could," he said. "We've got a case, and will be taking a Coast Guard chopper to the crime scene? Including me?"

She didn't blame him for his confusion, but kept walking, motioning him to follow her. "Yes to the case, but no, the crime scene is now coming to us." They were nearly to Brennan's office, and could hear sounds of the argument-in-progress.

"You're being completely irrational!"

"Me? There's a lunatic out there targeting the team, and you think _I'm_ being irrational?"

"Yes! I agreed that flying in a helicopter might not be wise at this stage of my pregnancy, and indicated I would stay here, in spite of the disadvantage that puts us at with the investigation, and that's still not satisfying you!"

"I can't protect you from Paisley if I'm on a chopper to God knows where in the middle of the Atlantic and you're here!"

The door was open, and through it, they could see the partners glaring at one another. Booth's hands were on his hips in an aggressive stance, his jacket pushed back, highlighting his weapon. Brennan was standing in front of her desk, her arms folded.

Cam glanced at Sweets, who looked a bit stunned, then cleared her throat.

"What?" Booth and Brennan snapped simultaneously, turning their glares in her direction.

"No one is flying anywhere. The Coast Guard is bringing the Onnea to us, with the remains inside. They estimate it will take about 48 hours."

"The Onnea?" Sweets asked.

Seeing that Booth and Brennan had both relaxed a bit, she turned to him. "Deep sea submergence vehicle with a three person crew. It went missing about nine months ago. The Navy continued a blanket search while they did their routine sweeps and spotted it on radar in a crevice yesterday morning."

"So it's like a mini-submarine, right? Wait – I remember this. Wasn't there a Hollywood producer on board?"

"Yeah," Booth replied. "One of Spielberg's underlings was doing research for a film."

"And we're investigating it?"

Excitement laced his tone, and Cam exchanged glances with Booth, noting his struggle between slapping at Sweets and letting it go. It was good to have the younger man show interest in something other than Paisley, or the new book he was writing. And even the book research frequently led back to Paisley.

"Yeah," Booth answered. "We're more neutral, less likely to stir up rumors of it being the victim of a military attack." He glanced at his watch. "I'd better get back to the Hoover. I left Turner tracking down the Onnea's owner for an initial interview."

He turned back to Brennan, and Cam, recognizing the look, addressed Sweets. "I need to go update Hodgins and Angela. Come with me, and I'll debrief you on the rest of what we know."

Brennan watched them walk away and then turned to eye Booth warily. She understood he was worried – they were all anxious about Paisley – but enough was enough. "I can't be in two places at once," she said bluntly. "I can't stay here to avoid a helicopter flight that might put the baby at risk and simultaneously go with you on the same flight so you can shoot anyone who comes near me."

"I know." He blew out a breath. "I'm being ridiculous. I can't help it, Bones." He pulled her to him, rested his forehead against hers while his hand drifted down to rest on her belly. "Paisley's not permanently harmed anyone she's taken, but none of them was pregnant. If she takes you…"

"Maybe she won't. Maybe you'll be her next target. Do you not think having the father of my child missing would distress me?"

"I have a gun."

It was a familiar and pointless argument, so Brennan just leaned against him, understanding that both of them needed the comfort. After a moment, she leaned up, kissed him, and then pulled away. "You go conduct interviews. I'll stay here, as protected as I can possibly be, until you and your gun come to collect me."

His lips twitched, as if fighting a smile, then his face resumed its grim expression. "I know it's frustrating. But every time you go somewhere by yourself, I'm afraid you won't come back."

"Like Angela. I know." Her voice turned dry. "It's why I've not resisted your extreme over-protectiveness, nor pointed out that I, too, have a weapon." She shook her head, unwilling to resume that debate. "Go start the interviews. Call when you're on your way back."

He nodded, and with a final glance back at her, left the office.

Brennan watched him go, and then reached around to rub her lower back as she moved to her desk chair and sat down. They had to catch Paisley soon. They simply had to.

* * *

><p>Booth sat next to Sweets at the conference table, and studied the two people across from him. "Paul McFarland, president and CEO of Deep Ocean Views, and Caryn Stevens, lead engineer, correct?"<p>

McFarland rubbed his eyes. "Yes. Agent Booth, we need to know what's going on. Our second DSV was nearing completion when the Onnea vanished, and production halted. Both our company and the Finnish company that's building it are over a barrel here."

Stevens glanced at him, then added, "The Onnea was fully insured, but without some record of what happened, the insurance company won't pay out. We can't move forward with the second unit, can't meet our obligations for trips that were scheduled."

"And Brett and Tom were good friends of ours," McFarland added, and took a gulp from the glass of water Sweets had placed in front of him." We need to know what happened to them, both for ourselves and their families."

"There was a third man onboard as well, correct?" Sweets asked. "Scott Jacobs?"

"Yes. He had chartered the Onnea."

"Why? What was he researching?" Booth asked.

"The wreckage of the U.S.S Cyclops."

Booth sat back, intrigued. "That's the ship that went missing in 1918, right? With 309 men aboard? I didn't realize it had been found."

"We discovered it last spring," Stevens said. "The fact that it was missing for so long…" She shrugged. "Theories ranged from the Bermuda Triangle to the ship having been sunk by the Germans. Scott thought it would make a good story."

"So what happened the day of the dive?" Sweets asked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," McFarland replied. "All the pre-dive checks were normal. It was Scott's third dive, so he was relaxed, looking forward to it."

"What about the other two? Brett and Tom? They work for your company, right?"

"Yes. Tom would usually pilot the Onnea, with Brett as co-pilot. We have others who are certified for those roles – including Caryn," McFarland nodded toward the woman sitting next to him. "But Tom and Brett handled most of the dives. They knew the equipment the best."

"I'd like a list of everyone certified to operate the vessel," Booth said. "Just to clarify - what do the pilot and co-pilot do?"

"The pilot focuses mainly on the mechanicals and electronics, controlling the dive and overseeing the support systems," McFarland said. "The co-pilot, in addition to providing backup in those areas, handles the research equipment and generally works with the client."

"So nothing unusual happened the day of the dive?" Sweets repeated.

"No. The pre-checks went fine; there was nothing off with the equipment. The sea floor where we were is 5000 meters below surface, well within the Onnea's range. Rate of descent is 40 meters a minute, so it took just over two hours for them to reach bottom, and we maintained radio contact the entire time."

Sweets shifted. "How long can they be down there?"

"There's life support for up to 246 man hours," Stevens answered. "Nearly three days for three people."

"Okay, so they reached bottom. Then what?"

McFarland looked at Booth. "They were over a day into the dive when Brett radioed that they were getting odd readings. We tried to verify, and there was no response. They just suddenly went silent."

"What kind of odd readings?" Sweets asked.

"We don't know. It was a bit garbled."

Booth shifted. "Would you expect that kind of call if something went wrong mechanically?"

"No," Stevens answered. "Not that suddenly, at least. The gauges should have given more warning, for one thing."

"So what happened next?"

"We waited. We kept trying to make contact. We tried to follow them on the radar, but they were in an area with a lot of crevices and we lost them."

"How long did you wait?"

"Twelve hours past their life support," McFarland said quietly. "We kept hoping that maybe the problem had just been with the radio, and they'd make it back to the surface."

"And when they didn't?"

He shook his head. "We returned to base. We contacted the Navy, who promised to look for them every time they were anywhere in the area. Their radar is more powerful than ours."

Booth frowned. "You didn't have backup systems on the ship that would tell you what was going on?"

"Everything is via VHF radio. When the Onnea is surfaced, our computers can connect and run diagnostics, but our connection when they're on a dive is limited."

"And the pre-checks that day went fine, you said? Who does those?"

"It varies, though the pilot always participates," Stevens answered. "That day, I did it with Tom and one of our other engineers, Joel."

"What do you check?"

"We look for any sign of damage or wear to the hull, check the batteries, the radio, the C02 scrubbers…the mechanicals systems. It's a full system check."

"What about emergency procedures?" Sweets asked.

"There really aren't many. If they lost the ability to surface, but had radio, we might be able to think of a way to rescue them with the navy or coast guard's help, though even that's unlikely. But with no clear idea of where they were or what was wrong, all we could do was wait."

After a moment, Sweets cleared his throat and said, "It sounds like Tom and Brett worked closely together. What was the nature of their relationship? Any problems there?"

McFarland and Stevens exchanged a look, and then he shook his head. "No. Just the opposite. They were lovers."

There was a moment of silence while they absorbed that. Then Sweets asked, "No problems between them?"

"None that any of us observed. They'd been together about two years, and seemed very happy." McFarland said.

"Tom was particularly happy," Stevens said. She turned to McFarland. "Remember? John was there."

"Who's John?" Booth asked.

"His son." At their confused expressions, he continued, "Tom was married for over twenty years. When he met Brett, he left his wife. I guess it happens." He shrugged. "John was twenty at the time, and didn't handle it well. But they reconciled right before this trip. John came to see them off. It was hard on him when they didn't return."

B&B

Sweets followed Booth back into his office. "I didn't get anything from either of them that seemed off, did you?"

"Nah, but we'll run them. It might be interesting to know what the insurance payout will be. How stable the company was."

"You know, this might really be an accident," Sweets said.

Booth nodded. "That's what they want us to figure out. I'll call Angela and tell her the schematics are on the way."

Understanding that Booth was dismissing him, Sweets turned toward the door, and then looked back. "Things seemed pretty heated between you and Dr. Brennan this morning."

The other man looked up from his computer. "Not going there. And things are fine."

The terse statement from Booth actually meant that he'd just gone there, but Sweets was smart enough not to say so. "You know that's the topic of my research – the stress that high risk jobs places on personal relationships!"

"Yes. Research. It's why we're not going there."

"But-"

Claudia picked that moment to walk in, her smile of greeting quickly fading to puzzlement as she picked up on the tension between them.

Booth motioned from Sweets to his girlfriend, a smirk settling on his face." She's in both a high risk job and a personal relationship. Interview her."

Sweets rolled his eyes. "I'll go work on my notes from the meeting with McFarland and Stevens."

"Good idea."

* * *

><p>Brennan stood in the door of Angela's office, her head tilted as she studied the monitor. "Those are the schematics from the submergence vehicle?"<p>

"The Onnea, yeah. The basic systems seem pretty straightforward. Battery powered, VHF radio, CO2 scrubbers recycling the air. The onboard computer generates logs, so once I see those, I'll hopefully have an idea of what went wrong. With communication limited, the logs weren't being transmitted to the ship." She looked at Brennan. "How about you?"

"The company that owns the unit sent medical records for the three men. I've been familiarizing myself with them in the hope that it will make examining the remains more productive."

"You'll know if anything is different."

"In theory, yes." Brennan sighed and walked over to lower herself into one of Angela's chairs. "It's almost certainly a waste of time. Booth told me once how much he dislikes the first part of an investigation when we're examining remains and studying the crime scene and he has nothing to do."

"And you understand that now," Angela said sympathetically.

"Yes."

"I'm the same way, really. These schematics are interesting but until I see the logs, they're not going to tell me anything."

Brennan nodded, and then changed the subject. "I'm also experiencing lab fever."

Puzzled, Angela stared at her, and then laughed in understanding. "You mean cabin fever, because you're not getting out?"

Brennan frowned. "I'm not in a cabin, but yes."

"I get it," Angela said on a sigh as she dropped into the chair next to Brennan. "Jack and I come to work together, we go home together. And that's it. I love him more than life, but any day now I'm going to snap and do something desperate." She stared moodily at the monitor still displaying the schematics. "Even knowing Paisley's unlikely to grab the two of us again, we don't go anywhere else, and we don't go anywhere alone."

"Imagine that scenario if you were pregnant," Brennan said.

Angela laughed again. "Booth's always been protective of you, but this must be making him insane." Suddenly she stood up. "You know what we're going to do? We're going to the Founding Fathers tonight. All of us. We've not done that in ages, and we all need it."

B&B

Booth took a sip of beer and looked around the table. Angela was a force to be reckoned with when she'd decided something. He didn't even remember agreeing to the impromptu get together, though he wasn't sorry they'd done it.

"This was a good idea," Cam murmured to him. She was on his right, with Brennan on his left, with Angela and Hodgins, and Sweets and Turner filling out the group. "I can't stay long, but it's good to do this."

"Yeah, it's good."

He tuned in to the conversation at the other end of the table to hear Sweets asking Hodgins, "How has being married changed your view of your job?"

"My what?"

Booth suppressed the desire to laugh at Hodgins' baffled response.

"Your jobs are high-risk, and I wonder how being married has changed your view of what you do," Sweets continued.

To Hodgins' credit, he didn't brush Sweets off, but instead frowned, considering. "I didn't used to think of what I do as high risk."

"And now?"

"Now…" he looked over at his wife. "There's been Taffett, and Creeps, and Paisley." While speaking, he'd reached over and taken Angela's hand, and Booth wondered if he'd even realized he'd done so.

"So much for lab work not being high risk," Angela said dryly.

"But marriage doesn't have anything to do with it." He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then added, "Well, Angela makes it easier. She gets it, gets when I'm frustrated, knows when to let me go, when to drag me out."

Now Sweets was frowning, and Cam took pity on him. "What is it you really want to know?"

The younger man glanced at his girlfriend for a moment before answering. "Some relationships don't last when one of the pair's in a dangerous job. The job itself comes between them. Others seem to thrive. I want to understand what determines which way it works out. It can help me in my work with agents."

Good one, Sweets, Booth thought, as he watched him look at Turner again. Keep telling yourself that it doesn't have anything to do with the woman beside you.

"Everyone is different, and every relationship is different," Brennan said. "I do not see how drawing conclusions about one will assist with others."

"How Angela and I cope is different from how Dr. B and Booth do," Hodgins agreed.

"And my situation is different from that of everyone else," Cam said. "Maybe you should talk to Paul at some point."

A gleam came into Sweets' eyes. "That would be awesome, if he'd be willing to help."

"I'll ask."

The conversation shifted then, ebbed and flowed to other things with the easy rhythm of people who know one another well. Even as he listened to the Angela updating Claudia on their adoption process, Booth surveyed the bar, studied the street outside.

"She's not here," Cam murmured. "Trust me."

His gaze jumped to hers, and they shared a silent look – cops first and always - as he touched his bottle to her glass.

B&B

Booth was frowning over the report in front of him when Turner tapped on his open door. Motioning her in, he said, "There's nothing hinky-looking here."

"Hinky-looking, sir?"

"What you dug up on Deep Ocean Views. On the surface, there's nothing off about McFarland, nothing to indicate this may have been deliberate sabotage."

"And we can't go below the surface without warrants, and can't get warrants until we know its murder, and we won't know that until the Onnea gets here."

"Exactly." He shoved back from the monitor. "Did you find the son?"

"He's in the conference room. He was camping with friends, but they tracked him down."

Booth stood. "Good. What's your take on him?"

She waited, walked with him. "He's twenty-two, and taking a year off before starting graduate work at MIT. He does computer support for a car dealership in Baltimore. He seems pretty shaken up."

"Anything on the ex-wife?"

Turner nodded. "She died just over a year ago in a car accident."

"Tough for the son. Might be the motivation for his reconciliation with his dad."

He paused outside the conference room and studied the young man at the table. He was on the thin side, with a scrubby beard suggesting he'd come straight to the Hoover from the camping trip. His expression was blank, his gaze fixed on his hands fisted in front of him on the table.

Booth stepped in, introduced himself. "Thanks for coming in, Mr. Vine. I'm very sorry for your loss."

The expression cleared a bit, though he still looked somewhat lost. "Do you know what happened to my father?"

"We're working on that. Can you tell me what happened that day?"

Turner poured him some water, and he sipped it, seemed to be gathering his thoughts. "We hadn't spoken for two years."

"You were uncomfortable with his homosexual relationship?" Booth asked.

Vine's eyes hardened. "Is that what McFarland told you?"

"How would you explain it, then?"

"It wasn't that he was gay." Bitterness leaked through his tone. "I've got friends who are gay. I'm no homophobe. But he lied, man. My entire life, he was lying – to me, to my mom. I had friends whose parents split because they fell out of love. That happens. You expect it. But everything he ever told her was a lie; everything he ever told me about being a man was a lie."

"He said that?"

"Nah. He gave Mom some crap about always loving her, but she knew the truth, and it destroyed her. She gave twenty-two years to a man who was using her as a cover."

"Did he try to contact you during those two years?"

"Yeah. I'd ignore him." He sighed. "Then Mom died, and suddenly being that angry seemed pointless."

"So you went to see him that day?" Turner asked.

"Yeah. I called, told him I'd like to see him, like to see the ship and the Onnea. I'd always been interested in his work."

"How was it?"

"Awkward as hell, but …okay, too, I guess. I'm planning to study Ocean Engineering at MIT, so there was stuff to talk about. There was always stuff to talk about. I didn't want to hang with his lover, and that wasn't cool with him, but one step at a time, you know?" He took another swallow of water. "Anyway, we said goodbye, and the dive started. And that was that."

"Did your dad express any concern that day about anything?"

John shook his head. "No. Apart from some tension between us over his lover, he was great. Happy I was there, excited by the dive. He was always excited by the dive. That was something he hadn't been lying about all those years, I guess. He loved going down."

* * *

><p>"Hey, Sweets." Angela looked over at the psychologist as he hovered in her doorway. "What's up?"<p>

"Are you busy?"

"Nope. I've done all I can do until the Onnea gets here. Why?"

"I was wondering if you'd answer a few questions for me."

"For your book? Sure. Come on in. I'm just running some maintenance routines on my equipment." She watched him settle into a chair, take out a notepad and pen. "Ask away. This is about high risk jobs and relationships, right?"

"Yeah." He paused. "You've been in relationships with people who weren't in dangerous jobs before. How are things different now?"

It seemed like it should be an easy question to answer, but it wasn't. "I don't really know," she said slowly. "I don't think about it that much, honestly."

"That it's dangerous?"

"What's a high risk job, Sweets? Any of us could be hit by a bus, or taken out by an earthquake. Hodgins is a lab rat. A genius lab rat with a huge heart and delusions of grandeur, but a lab rat. And yet…" she sat back, sighed. "Our relationship really began after Taffett kidnapped him. Add in lab explosions, crazy experiments, deadly fungi, and now Paisley…" She shook her head. "I still don't think about it daily. I don't get up in the morning thinking 'today's the day something could happen. You can't live your life that way."

"It doesn't add stress to your relationship?"

"The work does," she said immediately. "But no, not wondering if something's going to happen."

"What you do can be rough."

"I get tired of the ugliness. It never stops." She waved her hand, taking in both her office and rest of the lab. "There's never an end to it. Someone's always finding some new way to kill someone else, and it gets to me."

"Enough that you quit."

"Enough that I quit," she agreed. "Jack and I both know what to look for now, how to know when I'm hitting my limit, when I need a break, and that helps."

"And Hodgins?"

"Jack's all about answers. He goes nuts when he can't figure something out. That's why Creeps was able to screw with him so badly, even before Zack died."

"So if you take breaks, what does he do?"

"His response to stress is to work harder. He obsesses more, meaning he's more likely to miss something. So I drag him out, get him away from it for a while, however I can." She smirked. "Wild monkey sex almost always works."

Sweets was saved from whatever response he would have made by Cam appearing at the door. "The Onnea's arrived," she said.

"So soon? I thought it was going to be this evening at the earliest." Sweets said.

"Money talks," Cam said dryly. "And the insurance company is yelling at the top of their lungs."

B&B

The lab was a different place now than it had been hours earlier. The team didn't do 'wait' particularly well, Booth reflected as he badged himself on to the platform. Having a case you couldn't work because you didn't have the crime scene – if a crime had even been committed – was a different animal than being between cases.

"Hey, Bones," he said. She stood over one of the bodies, and didn't look up. "Do we know anything?"

"We know many things, Booth, but if you're asking if we know if these men were murdered, the answer is no." She glanced at him. "Cam is running DNA analysis to confirm, but we're fairly certain of their identities from clothing and positions. Apart from that, an initial examination of the remains hasn't yielded anything of use. But the others might be having more success with the Onnea."

They'd had some odd things in the lab before, but the sub sitting off to the side of the platform – and not looking particularly miniature – would have to top the list. He could see Hodgins and Wendell examining it. "Angela?"

"She's in her office, working with the logs. Did you meet with the son?"

"Yeah. Not much there, yet. He comes across as pretty conflicted. He was still angry at his dad, now he's grieving. But he didn't remember anything relevant."

Brennan frowned and looked back down at the skeleton in front of her. "That seems to be the norm so far in determining what happened."

Leaving her to her study of the remains, Booth headed toward Angela's office. He found the other woman staring at one of her screens, a look of concentration on her face.

"That's a very focused look," he said by way of greeting. "Have you found anything?"

"Maybe." She motioned to the monitor. "The gauge for the carbon dioxide scrubbers was giving very odd readings."

"The scrubbers – McFarland mentioned those."

"Did you ever see Apollo 13?"

"Yeah. Oh!"

"Yeah, oh. It's a pretty simple – and pretty critical – part of life support. It removes carbon dioxide from the air, effectively recycling it."

"How does it work?"

"There are different kinds. Some are more sophisticated, like the ones on the big subs. This is more basic."

She clicked to a photo, and Booth said, "That looks sort of like an air filter for a car."

"Not all that different, though this involves a chemical reaction the air filter doesn't have. There's a bank of these – twelve of them on the Onnea. They're replaced before every dive. The gauge resets from there."

"Was it reset?"

"Yeah, and looks normal. But after that, the log shows the numbers as off, at times dropping normally, at times dropping twice as fast. They ran out of breathable air in half the time they should have."

"Any idea why?"

"Not yet. Hodgins was going to bring me the used filters."

Booth nodded. "Anything on the radio?"

"No. The radio was powered by a secondary battery, the idea being that if something happened to the primary, they'd still be able to communicate with the support ship. But it could also be plugged into the main battery, which they don't seem to have done. But there's no indication they lost full power – either in the logs or the notes."

"Notes?"

She turned, pointed to a nearby table. A number of evidence trays held pieces of paper in sealed bags. "They knew they were dying, and wrote farewell notes." Her tone was grim, and she was looking over at the notes rather than at him.

Knowing she wasn't, he still asked, "You okay?"

She glanced at him. "l didn't read all three of them. They're too sad. And Hodgins wrote a note like that one time."

"Yeah." So had Brennan. He touched her arm as he passed her, picked up one of the notes.

"I can tell you that Tom really, really loved his son. And that by the time they realized what was going on, it was way too late to try and surface."

He skimmed the notes. Angela was right – they were sad, though Tom talked about dying at peace because of the reconciliation with John. Which was still sad, to Booth's mind. "There's nothing here, really, to tell us what happened."

"I guess if you're dying like that, worrying about the why isn't as important as saying what you need to the people you're leaving behind."

"Probably not." He placed the last letter back in its tray, noted her expression was still sad. "I'll go see if Hodgins and Wendell are finding anything." And send Jack to check on her.

The door – was it called a hatch? - was open on the Onnea, and he stuck his head in. Hodgins and Wendell were standing next to what appeared to be a radio.

"Hey, Booth," Hodgins said. "We have a theory about the radio."

"Yeah?"

"It's unplugged from the backup battery, but not plugged into the primary because the cord doesn't fit."

"What do you mean?"

"Different connectors," Wendell said, holding up a power cord. "This is what runs to the backup battery. It doesn't fit where the radio would connect to the main power, though. And there's no cable that does." He pointed to a drawer. "The schematics say the cord would be stored there, and it's not there."

"How long would the backup battery normally last?"

"Don't know," Hodgins answered. "Angela probably has that information. And maybe the log will show what happened to backup battery."

"Why don't you go see, while Wendell and I look for the oxygen filters?"

Hodgins' vaguely puzzled look cleared when Booth simply stared at him. "The notes. Yeah, I should have thought of that. I'll be back." On his way out, he motioned to a cabinet at the far end of the interior. "That's where the oxygen recycler should be."

He was right. The lower half of the closet was taken up by some sort of machine, while the top was a smooth panel with handles and a label that helpfully said, 'CO2 Scrubbers.' Booth removed the cover and saw a bank of filters.

"Looks sort of like the way furnace filters can slide in some units," Wendell commented. "Only with what, twelve of them."

Booth pulled one out. "I don't know what they're supposed to look like." He pulled others out, slid them back in. "But this looks like a different brand or something. The casing is different."

"I'll take them to Angela, see if she can figure out the differences."

"Yeah, do that." Booth looked around, frowned. "See if you can find the spares. I think they were supposed to have some onboard. I'm going to have another chat with McFarland, see if I can get a better picture of security."

B&B

"Mr. McFarland, thank you for coming back in. I appreciate it." Booth settled across from him in the conference room.

"Do you know anything yet? Anything you can tell me?"

"Not for certain. They appear to have tried to plug the radio into the main battery, and found that power cord missing. Would that have been usual?"

"No." McFarland frowned. "In fact, it would have been there during the pre-trip inspection. That's one of the things checked."

"The pre-trips…would something like that really be caught, or are they so routine they might have missed something?"

The other man shook his head. "That's why at least two people do every inspection. Too much at stake, too much can go wrong."

"So the cord would have been there that morning."

"Yes."

No wiggle room there. "What time was the pre-trip done, and who had access to the Onnea afterwards?"

McFarland opened the folder in front of him. "I brought a copy of it." He turned it so Booth could see it. "Caryn, Joel, and Tom completed it at 7:18AM."

"The dive didn't begin until that afternoon, right? Is that normal? That long of a period between the pre-trip and the dive?"

"It's not really abnormal. There are frequently meetings and the medical checks that happen before the dive, so we work the pre-trip in whenever we can. It's important, but not the only thing going on." He rubbed his hands through his hair. "Though maybe it should be. Anyway, that particular day, there was even more going on, due to John being there. Tom was trying to spend time with him, while Brett was trying to avoid them. It was complicated. But I promise you, the pre-trip was carefully done."

"John was there? Onboard?"

McFarland looked confused. "Well, yes. It's hard to take a tour of the Onnea without being onboard."

"Tom gave John a tour of the sub?"

"That's not at all unusual. We do tours for family, for dive sponsors, for anyone who's interested in our work."

"What's your security like?"

"Security?"

Struggling for patience, Booth asked, "Do you let just anyone wander around the sub?"

"Of course not. But the main security is on the ship. Once you're on the support ship, it's not that hard to access the Onnea. We can lock the hatch with a padlock, but don't usually bother unless it's in dry-dock. You can't exactly use a regular key on it, and keypads wouldn't fare well 2,000 meters below the surface."

"What's the security for getting onboard the ship?"

"The ship's mostly at sea. It's not like someone's going to swim out to us in order to get to the Onnea." At Booth's look, he sighed. "When we're in port, there is actually a keycard system for the ship."

"So we could look at those logs and see who was onboard that day?"

"Yes, but I'm telling you that it was only our standard crew and John."

"Where was John while Tom was in meetings and having his medical checks?"

McFarland frowned. "I don't know. I'll have to ask Caryn, and the rest of the crew."

"You do that. And while you're at it, see if you can give me some sort of timeline for who was where, doing what, and when they were doing it."

"I'll try. I've got notes and my schedule, but it was nine months ago."

"Do what you can."

B&B

Booth had just arrived back in his office when his computer beeped with the video chat call.

"Hey, Angela." He studied her, noting that the sadness had faded from her eyes. _Good job, Hodgins._ "What have you got?"

"Quite a bit, actually. I hadn't analyzed the radio log when you were here. I did, and found something very interesting. The radio has three modes: On, Off, and Standby. 'On' is when they're actively using it, 'Standby' is listening mode, so they'll hear the surface hailing them, but it doesn't take as much battery power. The radio should have been in the off position until they were ready to dive. But it was put into full On position four hours before the dive started."

"Which means the battery was already down quite a bit when they started."

"Right. But there's more. You were right to note the difference between the filters. The ones with the darker casing had older lot numbers. I called the company who makes the filters and…these were already used, Booth. Half the filters were replaced with used filters."

"How could the company know that? One used filter would look the same as another."

"Generally. But the lot numbers on these came from their site. They not only manufacture filters, they test them in various scenarios. And all of these filters were used nearly a year ago in some research they were doing."

"Definitely sabotage, then."

"Yeah. Got one more thing for you. I asked the company how someone would get old filters and they said it wouldn't be easy – it's not like they leave them on the doorstep – but it wouldn't be impossible, either. Then the woman I was talking to told me how badly they feel for John Vine. It seems they know him well – he worked for them until about ten months ago."

* * *

><p>This time, Booth took John into the interview room. He was betting the kid was smart enough to catch the difference, and he wasn't disappointed.<p>

"Why are we in here instead of that other room?"

"Just got a few follow-up questions for you."

"Okay."

"What were you doing on the Onnea while your dad and the others were in their pre-dive meetings?"

Nerves came and went on the other man's face. "Nothing. My father took me on a tour earlier, and I was just waiting for him to come back."

"Where were you waiting?"

"Around. The crew lounge, the deck."

"Not in the Onnea itself?"

"Why are you asking?"

Booth sat back, watched him start to sweat. "I think you know," he said quietly. "The Onnea was sabotaged on two fronts, leading to the deaths of three men."

"I didn't do it! I was there to make up with my father."

"You're going to stick to that story, huh?"

"You've got nothing or you'd have already arrested me."

Booth shrugged. "Just trying to make it simpler." He leaned forward. "Here's what I have. One. The logs tell us when the sabotage happened, and everyone on the ship was accounted for right then except for you. Two. One of the crew remembers seeing you hanging around the hatch to the Onnea. Three. No one else on the ship has a motive for the sabotage, as no benefited from it."

"That's all circumstantial at best," John said. "I watch TV."

"True. But those things will be important when the prosecutor lays out the case for the jury, particularly when she explains that the used scrubber filters that killed your father disappeared from a company you worked for until a month before the dive. That's pretty premeditated."

The color had drained from his face, but now rushed back. "You don't know anything. You can't prove anything."

"Not yet. But we'll keep digging, John. We're good at finding the truth. What we have now may be circumstantial, but it's compelling, so now we have warrants. What are we going to find on your computer?"

"Maybe someone wasn't paying attention and put the old scrubbers back in."

"Scrubbers used in an experiment by your old boss? Want to explain that?"

"I don't have to explain it. You have to prove it."

"What about the battery?"

"What about it? Radios get left on. It happens."

Gotcha, punk. "I didn't say anything about the radio."

For a moment, John was silent, emotions chasing across his face. "He killed my mom!"

"Your mother died in a car accident."

"My mother killed herself by driving off a bridge," he said bitterly. "Because the man she'd given her life to lied to her every day for over twenty years. He used her"

"Yeah, I get that." Booth stood. "But that didn't give you the right to kill him and two others. Particularly not when Scott Jacobs didn't do a thing to you, or to your mother."

"But he lied." He said it as if Booth was too slow to understand. "Honesty was a religion in our house, and everything about him, our family, our home, was a lie."

Booth walked around, hauled him up and cuffed him. "Here's the thing, kid. You only get to play the lousy parent card for so long. At some point, it's all about the kind of man you're going to be. Your dad was a liar, but you're a murderer. And that trumps liar, every time."

He handed him off to Turner, and then joined Sweets in the observation room. "Well?"

Sweets shook his head. "Remorse is there, hovering. His eyelids dropped like they were weighted when you mentioned Scott Jacobs."

"Yeah, I saw that. What a waste." Booth shook his head. "At least his dad didn't know what happened, didn't know what his kid did." He stared into the interview room for a moment, and then shook his head. "And we can wrap it."

"Yes. Agent Booth-"

On a sigh, Booth turned. "Listen to me. I'm only going to say this once. Life's short. Sometimes it's shorter than you think it's going to be. You can't spend all your time thinking it might suddenly end, can't let fear of what might happen control you. Got it?"

Sweets stared at him, nodded his head. "Yeah."

B&B

"You're not really watching the film," Brennan said from her position curled against him on the sofa.

"You're not really reading your journal article."

She sighed and shifted. "True. I keep thinking about the victims in the Onnea."

"Same here. It reminded me of a Ranger buddy of mine named Matt Riley."

"Rangers don't serve on submarines."

"No, and that's why he was a Ranger. His entire family was Navy – his dad, his brothers. Even a sister. But he joined the Army. He said he didn't mind dying, but he couldn't face being trapped on a ship, just waiting to suffocate."

"I understand that."

Booth leaned forward, pressed a kiss on her hair. "Yeah, I know you do."

* * *

><p><em><strong>When yet another team member disappears, there is more than one life hanging in the balance as the team frantically tries to piece the mystery together and bring their loved one home, next Thursday in All The King's Horses by NatesMama and GCatsPJ's.<strong>_


	8. All The King's Horses

Bones Season 7.5x08: All The King's Horses~ Written by GCatsPJ's and NatesMama

"I have known Cam for almost twenty years, and although I could probably stand up here and reveal all sorts of embarrassing stories…" Booth winked at his old friend's glaring look with a chuckle. "I'm not going to ruin her important day by telling you about the time when she was working as coroner of New York and she told Ed Koch to bite her." The assembled crowd roared as Cam dropped her head into her hands and Paul wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. Booth waited until everyone had calmed down, and then held his glass in front of him, facing the newly-married couple with a genuine smile.

"But seriously, this is the second-most important day of Cam and Paul's lives, after the day that beautiful boy sitting between them was born, and there is no one in this room that is happier for them than I am." He swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat as he addressed his oldest friend and her new husband. "Paul and Camille…may you always know happiness, joy, peace, understanding, respect, devotion, fidelity, faith, goodness, kindness and love. May your days be filled with laughter and may your nights be filled with romance. May every day you spend together be even better than the last. Congratulations!" He raised his glass to his lips as the crowd shouted their well-wishes to the newlyweds along with him. Cam gave Booth a watery smile before turning to kiss Paul to the sounds of flatware tapping merrily against glasses.

Booth took his seat next to Brennan, who was wearing a maternity version of the bridesmaid gowns worn by Angela and Cam's sister Felicia. He leaned to kiss her and was surprised to see tears in her eyes as well.

"You okay, Bones?" He laid a hand on her swollen belly and rubbed in circles. "Baby giving you a rough time?"

Brennan sniffed quietly and dabbed at her eyes. "No, Booth. I'm fine." She reached up and laid her palm against his cheek, rubbing her thumb under his eye softly. "It was just a very lovely speech and I am awash in hormones."

"Aw, Bones…" Booth chuckled, unconsciously leaning into the warm hand still holding his face. "That was sweet and a little squinty. I like it." He kissed her again and then turned to look around the reception hall, taking in the moment.

Next to Brennan on his other side were Angela and Hodgins, sitting practically on top of each other, seemingly cocooned in their own little world. They had been almost inseparable since Paisley, and although it was an awful experience it seemed to Booth that they were even closer than ever and while the circumstances certainly could have been better, he was happy to see them happy.

At a table close to the head table, Turner and Sweets were engaged in an animated conversation with Wendell and Molly and from where Booth sat it looked like they were all having a good time. Molly and Wendell especially looked…close. Booth couldn't help the smile that crossed his face at the thought of the sweet new intern finding something special with a guy as great as Wendell.

With a contented sigh, Booth leaned back in his chair and reveled in how everything around him seemed to be falling into place. While not the most conventional of relationships, his partnership with Bones was everything he thought he needed and even better, everything he never knew he always wanted. And now between the baby, their friends, families and careers, Booth could not remember a time when he was more satisfied with his life.

As if to mock his happiness, Booth's phone rang, displaying the caller ID of the FBI dispatcher…which could only mean one thing. Brennan turned and looked at him questioningly, but he shook her off as he stood to walk away and take the call. He tried to argue with whoever was on the line, but apparently every single agent in the Washington DC Major Crimes division was unavailable and Booth was on call. On the bright side, it wasn't a desiccated body so he wouldn't have to drag Bones away from the party, but he was going to have to pull Turner away, at least for a little while. Luckily, she had seen him on the phone and with a few hand gestures and nods as he took notes on the address, Booth managed to convey the need for her to get her things together so they could head out. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she kissed Sweets goodbye and headed his way.

"What's up, Boss?" Her elegant gown belied her professional attitude, making Booth smile at the incongruity.

"Dead guy, 'bout a half hour away from here." At her raised eyebrow, he sighed resignedly. "Yeah, they knew we were here, which is why they called." He tilted his head towards the head table. "Just let me tell Bones and we'll get out of here. The sooner we get this done, the better."

Brennan knew the nature of Booth's call as soon as he stepped away from the table, so she began gathering her purse and phone in preparation to leave for a crime scene. But when he walked up and stilled her hand, she realized that he had no intention of taking her with him.

"Booth?" She began to stand when he settled one hand on her shoulder, helping her to sit again. "Do we have a case?"

"I have a case, but you don't." Before she could protest, Booth explained. "The body is fresh, Bones. And they knew we were here in Virginia close to the crime scene, so they called me. The local coroner will handle the autopsy."

"Oh." He was almost amused at how disappointed she was. "You need me to secure the crime scene, though. The local police-"

"Bones." Booth leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, fighting an indulgent grin he knew she would smack off his face. "This is not a case for the Jeffersonian. Turner and I know the procedures well enough to handle the crime scene. You need to stay here and celebrate with Cam and Paul and the rest of our family. Alright?"

With a sigh, Brennan nodded. "I don't like you going out into the field without me, but I accept your reasoning." She leaned up and kissed him quickly. "Please be careful."

"Always." He snuck another kiss. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

Booth looked over her shoulder to Angela and Hodgins, who were doing a terrible job of pretending not to eavesdrop. "Please stick by her while I'm gone, okay?" He ignored Brennan's automatic protest with a sideways glance. "She doesn't need a babysitter, but I would feel better knowing you're both with her."

"No problem, Booth." Hodgins agreed and Angela nodded. "We'll give her a ride if you're gone longer than this shindig lasts."

"Thanks. Give me a call if you leave." He stood and shook out his jacket, smoothing the lapels. He looked around for Cam, and seeing her chatting across the room with a group of friends, added a request. "And could one of you let Cam know what's going on?"

"I'll tell her." Brennan said. "Now go, Claudia is waiting."

"Alright. Have fun." He kissed her one last time and stepped over to grab Turner on his way out.

Brennan watched him go, a furrow on her brow.

"What's wrong, sweetie? Upset that you can't go along?" Angela wrapped an arm around Brennan's shoulders. "You know he would take you if he needed you."

"I am aware of that, Angela. I just…I hate being left out."

Her friend smiled. "I know, and I understand how you feel. But today is about Cam and Paul, and we are going to celebrate their love and eat tons of cake and I will drink champagne, including your share, and we will do the chicken dance and have a good time. Okay?"

Brennan nodded, a returning smile crossing her face unbidden. "Alright. But first I need to find the restroom. This child is determined to make me spend at least five minutes an hour in there anymore." She stood and grabbed her clutch. "I'll be right back."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"Of course not, I think I can handle going to the bathroom by myself without incident." She huffed, turning determinedly and heading to the far end of the hall where the bathrooms were situated. Angela watched as she disappeared down a shirt hallway, and then turned to Hodgins, who sat quietly watching the exchange.

"Why did I ever think that being pregnant would make her behave any differently?"

"Beats me, babe." He grinned and held up his glass. "Time for a booze refill?"

"Definitely." She ran an affectionate hand through his beard.

Two glasses of champagne later, Angela was pleasantly buzzed when the first strains of what could only be the Macarena began playing through the hall. She turned excitedly to her best friend to drag her out onto the dance floor, and was confronted with an empty chair.

"Jack?" She turned to her husband. "Where did Brennan go? Do you see her?"

"Uh…" Hodgins looked around. "Yeah, she came back from the bathroom and…" A confused look crossed his face. "Actually, I haven't seen her since then."

"Did she even come back from the bathroom?" Her voice was rising, a slightly sick feeling coiling in her stomach. "Oh God, Jack…" She jumped up and headed for the bathrooms, Hodgins hot on her heels. When they reached the dark hallway, Jack took note of the slightly open door at the end of the hall near the kitchen area. He let Angela enter the women's room first, her calls of Brennan's name echoing off the stark walls. At her gasp, he joined her in the room and felt his whole body break into a cold sweat as he stared at his wife standing at the sink, holding Brennan's clutch in her white-knuckled hands.

"Jack…we…she…Oh, God. She's gone."

* * *

><p>The first thing that Brennan was aware of was that she was in a very comfortable bed that did not belong to her. It was the scent that tipped her off, her own bed smelled of fabric softener and her body lotion and Booth.<p>

_Booth…_

Sitting up like a shot, she was hit with a wave of nausea so prevalent she had to clap a hand over her mouth to prevent an accident. Eyes closed, breathing slowly through her nose, Brennan tried to relax and fight the immediate panic that set in with the stomach upset, suddenly hyper-aware of the situation she was in. It was absolutely true that her brain moved faster than most people and hers was telling her, without a doubt, that the woman they had only been able to identify as Paisley had somehow abducted her. The last thing she remembered was saying goodbye to Booth at Cam's wedding reception, and try as she might she could not recall anything after that event. With a resigned sigh, Brennan began to catalog her surroundings.

The bedroom was well-appointed and beautifully decorated, with a large dresser and vanity settled in each corner. Brennan noted that the mirror was missing from the vanity, and correctly surmised that any and every thing that could be used as a weapon had been removed from her reach. Even the food, waiting for her, on the side table next to the bed was a carefully calculated menu…all finger food, so no utensils would be required. The window, while tastefully accented with a valance that matched the drapes and bed comforter, was blocked with large, thick iron bars…the only outward indication that Brennan was there not as a guest, but as a hostage.

The rattle of a doorknob brought Brennan up to stand next to the bed, hands in a defensive position. When the slim, undeniably beautiful woman entered, Brennan relaxed slightly, but kept up her guard.

"Dr. Brennan." Paisley began, pulling out a chair and sitting, legs crossed demurely. "Welcome to my home."

Mimicking her host, Brennan sat on the bed and intertwined her fingers on her lap, still wary. "Why am I here?"

"Right to the point, I see. I suppose everything I've heard about you is true, then." Paisley smiled, shaking her head. "In any case, your purpose in my little game will be explained shortly. First off, however, I must insist that you allow me to make sure that, while you're here, you are comfortable. Both for you and…" She nodded to Brennan's expanded middle. "your child. Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Yes. A cell phone."

With a laugh that was calculated to sound carefree but came out as anything but, Brennan's captor shook her head indulgently. "Now, Dr. Brennan…actually, could I call you Temperance? It's such a beautiful name; it seems a shame to use the formality."

"Temperance is fine." Brennan replied through gritted teeth.

"Temperance, then. You and I both know that I cannot let you call Agent Booth. At least not yet." At Brennan's inquisitive expression, she continued. "Yes, I may allow you to contact your beloved when and if you fulfill your purpose. But that remains to be seen."

"Beloved?"

"Yes, of course. Beloved. Defined as someone close to you who is loved, valued, prized, treasured…precious. Does the word not apply?"

Brennan could only shake her head.

"Very well then. Your adored partner may have the opportunity to hear from you…after all, you are not his only concern." She gestured towards her stomach again. "And I am not cold and unfeeling. But what does and does not happen here depends entirely on your level of cooperation." Paisley brushed her hair back over her shoulder distractedly. "Do you understand?"

Brennan sniffed haughtily despite herself. "I am exceptionally intelligent, of course I understand."

"And there is anything that I can get for you? I understand pregnant women have cravings…is there something in particular I can have Adam retrieve for you?"

"Adam?"

"A nickname for my devoted and very faithful husband. He will be happy to get you whatever you need or want, within reason."

Brennan sighed and rubbed her forehead in irritation. "I can't think of anything I need as of this moment. I would, however, prefer to know what task you have set before me so that I can begin." At Paisley's semi-amused look, Brennan bit back a smart remark. "I know that you had specific tasks for Dr. Sweets, Dr. Saroyan and Dr. Hodgins, so it is safe to assume that is your intention with my abduction as well."

With a tilt of her head, Paisley regarded the other woman carefully. Brennan had never before felt like, as Booth would undoubtedly put it, a 'bug under a microscope', but right then she completely understood the phrase. "Very well. I appreciate your getting down to business." She smiled softly. "I admire you, Temperance. I truly do. You pulled yourself up from an impossible situation, worked hard, studied hard and made something truly exceptional of yourself. Not only that, you are without peer in your profession and have even managed to excel in a second career as a writer and a third as a very successful crime fighter."

"Thank you."

Leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms across her chest, Paisley continued. "But there is more there. More under the surface than just a foster child who made good. I've read things about you, about how you're cold and unfeeling…but I find that hard to believe, Temperance."

Brennan shook her head, confused. "I am not cold…but I don't understand…"

"A woman who has accomplished as much as you have in such a short amount of time has to have passion. Passion for her work, passion for justice…I do not believe that you are not the ice queen many claim. But you do fascinate me. And so, your task is to write your autobiography."

Brennan gasped. "I-I…that kind of work takes months and sometimes years of preparation…research, outlining…I couldn't possibly…" What color remained in her face drained away. "Unless you're planning on keeping me here until-"

"Oh, no. No." Paisley waved her hand as if swatting an irritating gnat. "I do not expect you to write the story of your life in its entirety, Temperance. Just…snippets."

"I don't know what that means."

She laughed lightly. "Of course you don't. Just…write excerpts. Small remembrances. It doesn't have to be a linear work, just insights into specific, important events in your life."

Brennan bristled. "I do not think that I can do that."

"Of course you can. And you will." The steel in her voice was hard for even Brennan to miss.

"What is the alternative?"

"Oh, I don't know…maybe something happens to your beloved. Maybe something happens to his son." Paisley tapped one perfectly manicured fingernail on the edge of another, contemplating. "Maybe something happens to you. It doesn't matter, the possibilities are endless."

Brennan visibly sagged at the realization that for all her independence and self-reliance, this woman held her entire life in her undoubtedly unbalanced hands. "I have neither need nor belief in psychiatry, but I think that you may need to be medicated."

Paisley laughed, delighted. "You may be right, Temperance! But for now…" She stood, her mirth disappearing as if it had never existed. "You will do as I ask, or else. Now, if there is anything you would like to have to make you more comfortable, now is the time to ask."

"Yes. Bananas, Pretzel M&M's and donuts."

"Really?" Paisley shook her head. "I expected something entirely different from you. Ah well, that's why you're here. For me to learn more about you." She gestured to the desk against the wall, which was empty save for a small notebook computer. "I trust this equipment will work?"

Brennan stood finally and opened the computer. On the desktop she saw several reference programs as well as her own preferred writing program. Not wishing to delve into how this woman knew so much about her needs, she nodded. "This will be sufficient."

"Alright, then. I shall leave you to it. I will be back shortly with your requested snacks, and Adam will bring you lunch in a few hours. Please feel free to press the button here on the wall if you require anything at all." With another nod, Paisley left the room.

Slumping into the desk chair, Brennan noted the turn of the lock in the door, keeping her captive. With a shuddering sigh, she turned to the laptop in front of her and began organizing her thoughts, trying to keep her mind off Booth and everyone else that she loved…so that she could finish her task and hopefully return to them.

* * *

><p>There were signs of anger, fear, and impatience in Booth's demeanor. Each and every emotion that presented itself in his angrily quiet stance flashed in his dark eyes ominously. What was more revealing than his loud booming voice demanding answers was his sudden silence. Nobody had ever known Booth to be so absolutely silent when faced with a high pressure situation. In any other situation, he'd be barking orders to those around him.<p>

It was now several hours since Brennan had disappeared, and tensions were very high in every corner of the lab. All avenues were being pursued, and even the chattiest of interns had chosen to keep their theories to themselves. Booth stood in the lab, Brennan's brain trust, surrounded by all of the things that she used to comfort herself. Booth however, found no comfort in the cold, lifeless surroundings and his focus was beginning to fail. Panic was raging inside his mind, and yet his words to the team echoed in his memories. His eyes flicked to Hodgins' office, and then back to Cam's office, where she sat at her desk on the phone.

He felt the sorrow all around, and tried to ignore that nagging feeling of failure and disappointment that was threatening. The panic that rumbled in his mind was not going to be quelled until he could see, and feel Brennan in his arms. His silence was becoming louder, his stance more impatient with each and every moment and though he was exhausted, he refused to rest. His partner and his child's lives were on the line. Resting was not an option.

He felt a hand on his arm, and turned quickly and defensively.

"We haven't gotten any leads yet, Seeley," Cam said softly.

Booth remained quiet, his teeth were gritted tightly, and his lips were closed. "I know we don't have any leads, Cam. I've been paying attention," he snapped. He felt guilty for the anger that he was spouting, but refused to apologize just yet. Right now, it was proof that he hadn't given up, that he wasn't about to take a back seat in the investigation. Cam didn't need to be handled with kid gloves, and by the look in her eyes, she wasn't about to take his attitude sitting down.

"You should go home," Cam said. Her words were short and precise and her eyes dug into his. "You need to go home."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"And we're not getting anywhere, and we're not going to get anywhere with you walking around like a zombie snapping at people," she said. "Go home and we'll call you when we have some evidence. We still don't know that it was Paisley that took her, Booth. You and Doctor Brennan have put a lot of people away, Booth. It could be any number of people."

"But we know that Paisley is a threat, Cam," Booth said angrily. "We know that she's still out there, we know that she's gunning for us, and you just let Bones go into the restroom alone? Where was the security? Why wasn't anyone watching her? Why didn't anyone notice a pregnant woman being led out of the building under duress? How in the hell did she know what kind of case to call me with to get me away from Bones? These are some questions I'd like to know, Cam. These are the questions that are sitting in the back of my mind as you stand there and give me your excuses and try to get rid of me!" he shouted. "We don't even know how long it was before we realized she was gone. Why didn't you notice she was missing earlier?"

"I didn't even notice _you _were gone, Seeley!" Cam exclaimed. "You need to get some sleep, Seeley. You need to rest so that we can find her. You're too close to this. Please, just go home and try to get some rest. Trust me when I say we want to get Doctor Brennan back just as much as you do, but you can't do that if you're exhausted. Please, go home." Cam kept her hand on his chest as she spoke slowly and deliberately. She could see the great stubborn walls that he always built up in moments of stress start to crumble. She watched his jaw clench once, then twice. "We will find her, Booth."

He said nothing to his friend, but the sentiment was understood. There was nothing to say at that moment. He took a step back, and her hand fell to her side. "You call me the second you hear anything." He said, pointing his finger at her demandingly. "The second." He gritted his teeth, and turned, letting his feet fall heavily against the floor as he made his way from the lab toward his car.

B&B

_Booth has always elicited a reaction from me, whether it be positive or negative. Anger, sadness, trust, hurt, desire, love…but at first, it was what I can only describe as lust. While we had worked well together on our first case, the end of our interpersonal relations that first time was less than satisfying and I have always regretted that. _

The drive was silent, and the road slick with precipitation. Booth focused on the road and on the sound of the water slapping the tires instead of allowing his mind to wander. His focus was waning, and his eyelids were heavy, but the closer he came to the house, the stronger the pull was for him to turn around. He took slow, deep breaths, clenching his jaw again and again. His tongue slipped between his teeth and he bit down slightly. He wasn't sure if it was to remind himself that he wasn't dreaming, or to keep himself from shouting out in frustration.

There were no leads. She had just simply vanished.

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose, keeping his eyes on the road. He needed to rest. He needed to just stop and take a breath and focus. He needed all of these things to keep himself from thinking about what he ultimately needed.

_Bones.  
><em>  
>He shook off the shiver that trickled down his spine and pulled into the driveway. He opened the door at nearly the same time as he pulled the key from the ignition and trudged quickly toward the house. His keys jingled in his hand and he shoved the key into the lock and grabbed the doorknob. The door creaked slightly as it swung open, and Booth stood at the threshold. His body stopped immediately and his eyes raked down the entry hallway with precision as reality suddenly struck him. The house before him was not just a structure of wood and plaster. It was not just a place to keep their things, and bicker over the nuances of antiques vs. junk.<p>

It was their home.

_My first foster home was, I suppose, very comfortable. I had my own room, a small space set up in a finished attic that still managed to be warm and cozy. And I'm sure the couple who took me in, the Carters, was very nice, but I was so wrapped up in the loss of my parents, and of Russ's abandonment, that I couldn't see anything else. I don't remember if I had chores, I certainly do not remember actually doing anything other than existing that first few months. Maybe that is why I was not terribly surprised, nor upset, when the Carters requested that I be moved elsewhere. I have a vague recollection of the case worker explaining that the younger couple thought I would be better served with a family that was less busy and more sedate, but that could also be a false memory invented by a still-imaginative young mind and more than a decade and a half of distance from the situation. In any case, my next family, the Wares, became a study in survival for me and it is unlikely I will ever forget the punishment they handed out for even the smallest transgression. Why one situation is so vague in my mind while the other is sharply focused I don't know, but I can't help but wish it were the other way around. _

B&B

"Yes," Cam said into the line. Her tone had become more tired with each phone call that came into the lab, and by the sixth reporter she was ready to just hang up. "Yes, we will issue a statement on the situation as soon as there is something to report. You know what? I don't have time for this. I have a colleague that is missing, and I cannot keep wasting my time answering the same questions over and over. No Comment." She slammed the receiver down and closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. Mumbling under her breath, she stood up and glared at the phone as it began to ring again. "You can take it from here, voicemail," she muttered as she walked out of her office.

She turned toward the sound of voices coming from Brennan's office. They sounded tired and worn, but still working diligently on the task at hand. Hodgins sat on the couch with a Angela's head against him, her eyes focusing on the paper that Sweets was writing on across from them both. They looked up to Cam and she nodded in acknowledgment. "Where is Turner?"

"She went to check on a couple of things." Sweets said quickly.

"And get us a coffee refill." Hodgins said, holding up an empty Styrofoam cup, he set it back on the table. The hollow sound of the cup seemed to echo in the room. Cam took another step in the room, and noticed that everyone's eyes had moved to the doorway. She turned and was immediately greeted with the solemn face of Seeley Booth. She opened her mouth to say something, and he held his finger in the air.

"Don't say a word," he said, eyeing her warily. "I tried to sleep. I did. But it's not going to happen, alright?"

Cam nodded.

"So what do we have so far?"

"No evidence at the scene," Turner said, stepping into the room with a trayful of coffee. She deposited one into Booth's hand.

"How did you...?"

"I know that nothing is going to keep you off this case." Turner nodded. "So why even pretend." She took a breath and handed out the coffee to everyone else. "Based on the fact that there is no evidence, and it appears she just vanished without a trace, we're going with Paisley as our prime suspect."

Booth nodded his head, holding onto the coffee as if it were his only lifeline.

"Lance is working with Angela on a sketch. We're going to release it to the media for help in finding her. There has to be someone out there that knows who she is. I hate to use Dr. Brennan's celebrity to get the word out there, but it..."

"Use anything," Booth interrupted. "I don't care what means or who you have to exploit. Just get her face out there." His voice was low and even and everyone could tell that he was walking on a very thin line between focus and rage.

Angela carefully stood up, reluctantly releasing her hand from Hodgins'. "I'm going to work on the sketch." She said, taking the paper from Sweets. She looked each person in the room in the eye, focusing on them for a moment so that they understood that she too was determined to find Brennan. As she passed Booth she squeezed his arm, their eyes met and he gave her a grateful nod as they shared a moment of camaraderie, and she disappeared from the office quietly.

Booth turned back to the group, and sighed, walking toward the couch; he allowed himself a moment to take a breath and relax and sat down. He needed to gather his thoughts and focus so that they could all help in the return of Brennan.

The remaining people in the room discussed similarities in each abduction, loopholes and entry and exit points of the reception hall, along with scanning the list of servers and attendants at the hall. The one thing that always came back was that nobody saw anything out of the ordinary.

"Did you look into any artifacts or clues in the decor of the captor's home?"

The deep voice that had interrupted their train of thought brought all eyes to the doorway. Standing just inside the room was Dr Goodman. "What?" he said with an incredulous tone. "You all look surprised to see me."

Cam swallowed her surprise first and stepped toward him with her hand extended. "Surprised, yes." She said with a smile. "It's just a rare occasion to see you around these days, Dr Goodman," she said, shaking his hand.

"Dr. Brennan is an important person to both me, and the Jeffersonian." He paused. "I am quite concerned for her safety," he said stiffly. There was just a moment of coldness that quickly evaporated into the air.

"How would the decor of Paisley's surroundings help us to figure out who she is?" Sweets asked sincerely.

"One can tell a great deal about someone by the objects they surround themselves with, Dr Sweets," Dr Goodman said, taking a step into the room.

Hodgins stood up and stretched, glancing between the remaining team in the room. "I'm going to go check on Ange," he said, trying desperately not to yawn. "See if she's gotten anything up on the screen yet." He said, quickly disappearing into the hallway, grasping his cup of coffee in his hand tightly.

As soon as Hodgins was out of sight, he allowed himself a big yawn. He turned into Angela's office just as he finished, and she already had a finger in the air.

"Don't you dare start yawning, Jack." She said, turning to face him for a moment. "You're going to make me..." Her sentence wasn't even complete when she involuntarily felt a sharp inhale, and her hand covering her mouth. "Look what you made me do," she said through the yawn, turning around to face the screen.

He approached her and dropped a kiss on her cheek, watching the sleepy smile that rose on her lips. "I'm worried too."

"I know you are," she replied. "I know that she means a lot to you too."

Hodgins nodded. He watched Angela work for several moments, feeling an air of tension building up between them. "She has saved my life and saved my neck on more than one occasion," he blurted.

Angela smiled, still looking at the screen, she glanced to him. "The Gravedigger," she sighed with a moment of pause.

"She saved my life that day, and she's saved so many other lives. Maybe she seems like her focus is narrow, but you know it was Doctor Brennan that taught me that science doesn't come from just one direction. It comes from all directions, Ange. What she does, what Booth does, what I do, what you do. We all have our strengths, and we come together to make the perfect ensemble. The perfect..."

"Team," Angela said. "We're a team. Without Bren, I'd be out in the park drawing caricatures, and selling my art to shops that would rip me off, and sell the pieces for over inflated prices. She appreciated my skills, and I need her friendship," Angela said, feeling a bit emotional, she turned and wrapped her arms around Hodgins suddenly. It surprised him at first but immediately he wrapped his arms around her. She tucked her face in his neck for a moment. She took a deep breath and pulled back suddenly, looking Hodgins in the eyes. She took a deep breath, and he lifted thumb to carefully wipe the tear from her cheek. She looked a bit embarrassed, but quickly recovered. "You should..." She took a deep breath. "You should probably work with Booth on this. There's no particulate evidence, and he really can't be officially on the case. He's going to want someone he can trust to keep him in the loop with anything going on in the lab."

"You want me to keep him from shooting people," Hodgins said, a sly smile lifting on his lips.

"Exactly." She said, turning back to the screen. "Now let's find this bitch and get Brennan back," Angela said with a wink. She watched him smile, and he turned and walked out in search of Booth.

B&B

_I understand that when a young girl first begins menstruation, it is a rite of passage. In some Indian cultures, the young woman is welcomed to womanhood with a special ceremony called a Ruthu Sadangu. In the Tiv ethnic group in Nigeria, four lines are cut in the girl's abdomen, the practice of which is thought to make her a woman and more fertile. But in our culture, it's barely spoken of. Almost as if it is something to be ashamed of. As a young girl, I did not feel that way and when I began my first menses I wanted it to be a special occasion, so when we gathered around the table for our Sunday dinner, I announced to my parents and brother that I had finally become a woman. Russ was disgusted, my father was embarrassed and my mother was amused. It was not the first time I knew that I tended to behave differently from other girl my age, but it is the occurrence that stands out for me the most._

Brennan sat back in her chair and rubbed her burgeoning belly absently. The task set forth by her relentlessly polite captor seemed, at the outset, a simple one. Write about her life, satisfy the criminally insane woman's need for personal information, be released unharmed. Simple. She felt the tell-tale tingling in her nasal cavity that signaled impending tears, and sniffed in rebellion. With a quick swipe at her eyes and a determined glare, she placed her fingers back on the keyboard. She would not let this woman break her.

An hour later, Paisley sailed into the room looking fresh and bright, her eyes wide and innocent. "Good afternoon, Temperance! How are things going?"

Brennan barely broke stride in her typing to nod. "It is going well."

"May I see what you have so far, if you don't mind?" The excitement on the other woman's face made Brennan slightly nauseas. "I promise you, I won't interrupt again but I am very interested to see what you have so far."

"Of course." Brennan lifted herself up off the chair for the first time in hours, the stiffness in her neck and back reminding her that she was in no condition to work as relentlessly as she was used to. She moved to the bed and sat, sliding along the coverlet to rest against the headboard, a pillow shoved behind her back. She watched impassively as the other woman leaned forward to read aloud what Brennan had just finished writing.

_When I first stepped into the dimly lit art gallery I had no expectations. I was simply there to view works by relatively unknown DC-area artists, and possibly find something to decorate my newly-purchased apartment. Wandering around the main showroom, among the sculptures and designs scattered throughout, the only painting that even remotely caught my eye was an abstract watercolor that reminded me of Kandinksy. The bold lines and bright colors jumped out of the canvas and made me feel as if I were in the middle of something wild and uninhibited, but organized at the same time. It was a heady feeling, especially since I had never really had such a visceral reaction to a piece of art before that moment. When I finally broke my trance-like gaze, I realized that a tall, exotic-looking woman was standing next to me, a knowing look on her face. When she introduced herself as the artist of the painting that had so enthralled me, my immediate reaction was to reach out to her…something I had never experienced before, and only one other time since. We ended up having coffee that afternoon, and while it took some time for us to become close friends, the connection was immediate and satisfying in a way I had never known before. Angela's painting still hangs in my home office to this day._

"That is a lovely story, Temperance." Paisley cooed approvingly. "And you and Mrs. Hodgins are still best friends?"

"Y-yes. We are." Brennan stammered, nervous about Paisley's reaction and the fact that she was revealing more to this stranger than she had to anyone else in her life, save for Booth.

She turned the laptop back around facing the chair. "This is exactly what I hoped for. Insight into your life, your inner demons." Paisley smiled, showing perfect teeth in a grin Brennan could only describe as predatory. "I think you and I have more in common than even I realized."

"No we do not!" The denial burst forth from Brennan's lips before she could think better of it.

Shaking her head, Paisley moved to perch on the edge of the bed, placing what she thought was a comforting hand on Brennan's knee. "I know, you think that I've done unspeakable things to the people you love and care about. I've brought you here, against your will…all things you would never, ever do."

Brennan could only shake her head in response.

"But…you see, Temperance…it's like this. We are both strong women. We have both overcome damning odds, odds that lesser people would have buckled under and we have thrived!" With a comforting pat of the other woman's leg, Paisley stood and smoothed her skirt. "Just think about that, as you continue in your task." She turned and opened the door, stopping to regard her unwilling guest with an indulgent purse of her lips. "My Adam will be bringing you lunch shortly. I'd advise you to eat. You are eating for two, you know." And with that, she swept from the room, locking the door behind her.

Brennan's head tipped back and fell against the headboard, a stray tear skittering down her cheek. She closed her eyes for a moment. Paisley had compared them, the two of them, using their inner strength as a bridge to bond with her. But the only thing Brennan could think about was that in her entire life, through every trial and hardship she had experienced and was being forced to relive in this well-decorated prison cell, she had never felt as weak or helpless as she did right now.

* * *

><p>The rain in London seemed never-ending, and the dull droll of the news on the television just blended in with the light tapping on the windows. A blonde woman stood in her hotel room, packing clothes in her suitcase for another trip. She wasn't paying attention to the story on the screen, but focusing on her task at hand.<p>

It wasn't until she heard the name of Special Agent Seeley Booth that she looked up. She fumbled for the controller, turning up the volume and found herself captivated by the story. They flashed a picture of Temperance, and then went to a statement being read by Dr. Camille Saroyan. She sat on the edge of the bed listening to what had happened, when a rough sketch of the suspect was flashed on the screen. Her eyes widened with surprise and a gasp escaped her lips. "No." She shook her head.

Suddenly she stood and reached for her phone. Before the other party had the chance to say hello she blurted out, "My plans have changed, Walt. I've got to get back to the States."

B&B

Many hours later, everyone seemed at a loss. The sketch had been released to the media, and Doctor Goodman was trying to find clues in any of the other abductees' stories about the places they had been brought. The phones were silent but for the occasional reporter, and they were officially out of leads.

Booth was pacing. Sweat was beginning to bead at his hairline, and his jaw clenched and unclenched again. "It's so goddamned hot in here. Someone turn on the air conditioning!" Booth exclaimed.

"If you would sit down for a second, Booth," Cam said, watching as he glared at her angrily.

"Sit down? You want me to sit down? You guys have the temperature in here cranked up! How am I supposed to breathe? Huh? How am I supposed to take a goddamned breath in this coffin? This... goddamned hall of death!" Booth shouted.

"Maybe you should get some air."

"Maybe you should get these 'geniuses' that work for you to work harder! She could be starving her... she probably drugged her. Did they ever figure out what kind of drugs they used on you, and Angela and Sweets?" Booth asked, waving his arm at the psychologist who was staring blankly at him from the couch. "How do we know it isn't going to hurt the baby, Cam? How do we know anything? I just want some answers! I just want some goddamned answers!" Booth exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the desk.

Everyone jumped to attention at the loud thud on the desk, and Sweets stood up. "She won't hurt her, Booth."

"You don't know that," Booth said angrily, taking a step toward Sweets. Sweets didn't back down, instead he looked the agent in the eyes.

"She wants something from us, Booth," Sweets replied defensively. "She has to have some reason or purpose for this game she's playing."

"I don't care why she's doing it, Sweets! I don't give a crap why she's doing it! I just want to know where the hell she is so that I can get Bones back!" Booth exclaimed. His face was red with anger, and he was right in Sweets' face. Sweets stood indignant to the other man. He knew that he was only screaming at him out of fear for the woman he loved. "You can't tell me, Sweets, that if something happened to Turner that you wouldn't be out of your mind looking for her! Ask Hodgins, Sweets! Ask him!" Booth shouted, glancing to the other man, sitting, watching the tirade. "I'd hate to be in his way if something had happened to Angela, you know what I mean? It isn't a goddamned game anymore, Sweets! Bones, I know Bones can take care of herself, just like you could take care of yourself, Angela, Cam, Hodgins. You're all very, very resourceful, strong people, alright? But the one person that can't defend themselves is that baby, and I swear to God if anything happens to the baby, I will hunt that woman down and I will rip her apart limb from limb. I have never killed someone in cold blood, Sweets," Booth said darkly. "But if something happens to Bones or that baby… I will." Booth was now in Sweets' face, and he could feel Cam's hand on his arm, pulling him from the psychologist.

He didn't realize how impassioned he had become, and the rage bubbling inside of him twisted his stomach into a knot.

The sound of his phone burst through the silence that had filled the empty lab, and he lifted it to his face. "Booth." He said gruffly, turning from his friends.

"Seeley?" The voice shuddered over the line.

Booth turned, his eyes wide as he looked at each of his friends and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Hannah?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>What important information about Brennan's disappearance does Hannah have? What additional threat does Paisley have in store for Brennan? How long can Booth keep it together when they hit a dead end in the investigation? These questions and more will be answered next week in part two, All The King's Men by GCatsPJ's and NatesMama.<strong>_


	9. All The Kings Men

Bones Season 7.5x09: All The King's Men ~ Written by Squinttoyou and Rynogeny 

"Who's going to ask him?" Hodgins whispered. Several sets of eyes moved as one to watch Booth pacing the open floor. "I think it should be you."

Cam lifted an eyebrow. "Why me?"

"You're his oldest friend, right?"

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Angela muttered as they argued. She left the huddled group and marched across the room placing herself squarely in Booth's path. When he halted she put her hands on her hips and demanded an answer. "We've been waiting patiently, but you obviously haven't figured out we need an explanation."

"About?"

"This mystery woman with important information about Paisley," Angela stated as if speaking to an imbecile.

"Oh,"

Angela chuckled as his expression. "What, is she like an ex-girlfriend or something?"

"Something like that," he answered uncomfortably.

Angela's eyes widened in surprise. "A recent ex-girlfriend?"

"In Afghanistan." He sighed, knowing Angela would not let this go now that she knew there was a story to tell. "It was just...you know...one of those things. Bones and I weren't exactly in a good place when I left. There was a lot of stress and we were a good fit at the time. It just happened, ok?"

"Booth, I'm the last woman on the planet you should worry doesn't understand how that happens."

"Yeah." He sighed and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "It didn't mean anything, Ange."

"I doubt that it didn't mean _anything_, Booth."

"It...it wasn't, I mean we both knew it was just something that only worked over there, in that place."

"I think it cleared your head," she argued. "You came back home and, if I remember correctly, held your ground with Brennan until she gave in."

Booth's mouth turned upward in a tiny smile. It wasn't big, but it was the first one he had worn since this all began. "That's not exactly how it worked, but thanks for getting it." The doors behind them parted and he looked up in greeting. As he walked away he looked back over his shoulder and spoke to Angela. "Play nice."

"I'm just here to observe," she muttered to herself, "So I can give Bren a full report."

Booth was leading a very attractive blonde toward the others and Angela hurried to join them.

B&B

_I am grateful to a woman I have never met, a woman named Hannah. Booth shared a brief, but intense, emotional and sexual relationship with her while serving his time in Afghanistan. If I ever had the opportunity to meet her I would thank her for that. I suppose most women would find that odd, but as I have already demonstrated, I am unlike other women. Hannah helped correct the damage I inflicted. My initial rejection of Booth's interest in our personal relationship was a mistake. I did far more damage than he allowed me to see and his tryst with Hannah helped him regain his confidence and certainty. When we separated he was unsure, confused, crushed by the loss of what we had. We both were. He left me as a man with a broken heart. He returned confident in his love and determined to have me. I've never been given a better gift, and I thank her for it. _

"Are you really grateful to her?"

Brennan hadn't realized Paisley had entered the room behind her and she jumped slightly as her captor spoke. "Yes," she answered, managing to hide the irritation she always felt when someone read over her shoulder. "I believe I have detailed why."

She sat back, refusing to work further while Paisley looked on.

The blonde appeared not to notice her defiance. "It's getting late," she said instead. "I think you should consider lying down."

Brennan almost resisted, but she found she simply did not have the energy to do so. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Booth's voice seemed to whisper in her ear, reminding her to take care of their little one, and she knew what she should do. "Very well," she agreed.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" Paisley asked eagerly. "I so rarely have guests, but I stocked the bureau with a variety of bedclothes and you will find the bath has a selection of quality toiletries."

"Nothing, thank you," Brennan answered flatly.

Paisley gave her a warm smile that did little to counter the cold stare in her eyes. "Excellent work today, Dr. Brennan. I'm sure if you keep working that way you will succeed beyond my wildest dreams." Brennan stared back without comment. "Good night, then," Paisley said.

Brennan didn't move until the door clicked shut and she heard the lock turn. Then, she pulled a set of comfortable looking pajamas from the drawer and began to undress.

* * *

><p>Booth ignored the way the team was staring curiously at Hannah. "Thanks for calling," he said in opening.<p>

"Happy to," Hannah answered. "How are you? You must be worried sick."

"I'll be ok when she's home," Booth answered honestly. "You said you had some information that might help us find her?"

"I'd like to see that sketch again, if that's possible?" Booth looked to Angela and the artist scrambled to bring up the image on her computer tablet. She handed it over and Hannah studied the drawing of Paisley. "She's older, but I'm certain I know who this is."

As one the team leaned closer, eager for the information. Hannah looked away from the drawing as she realized she was straining their patience. "Sorry. Her name is Amelia Tennant. I think she was born in England, but grew up mostly here in the States."

"How do you know her?" Turner asked.

"We attended boarding school together; at Garrison Forest, from '97 to 2000."

Angela and Cam scrambled from their seats as they hurried to conduct an information search with that data and Hodgins followed.

"Anything else you can tell us?" Booth asked.

"No facts," Hannah answered. "I can give you who, what, when and where...just not the where you need to know."

"It's good info," Booth assured her. "I appreciate you bringing it to us."

"Seeley, are you really ok?" She reached out to touch his knee in a gesture of sympathy. "I know how you feel about her." Booth looked startled by that admission and she chuckled. "You used to talk about her all the time, you know. A girl can take a hint."

"Hannah, I'm sorry," he began.

"Don't be," she said dismissively. "It's not like either of us thought what we had was going anywhere. We were just having fun, helping each other through a difficult time."

"Yeah."

"It worked out for the best, right? You came home, the two of you are having a baby."

"Yeah," he replied and this time his answer was delivered with a smile.

Hannah hated to dim the light she saw in him, but there was something else she needed him to know. "Seeley, there is one more thing. It's not a fact, but I think it's something you should know."

The smile slid away and his eyes again resumed their dark intensity. "Ok."

"Back in school, Amelia didn't really fit in. She was different, but not in like a kooky, eccentric kind of way, more like a scary kind of way. She used to do things that made the rest of us nervous. Things we didn't' like to talk about."

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

Hannah sighed. "There was a girl named Tina. She was shy and plain. She had a hard time fitting in and it was pretty obvious she was unhappy her first semester. Several of us tried to draw her out, to get her involved, but she just didn't seem to want to. We were all shocked as hell to find out that by the second semester her best friend was Amelia."

"She wouldn't have a best friend," Sweets objected.

Hannah glanced at him, seeming to take note of him for the first time. "We didn't figure that out in time," she said through a sigh. "Amelia and Tina went everywhere together. For a few weeks it seemed like she was starting to adapt, to feel more at home."

"And then," Sweets asked sounding as if he knew what she was going to say.

"They found Tina in the bathroom. There wasn't anything they could do, she'd been dead for hours." She turned back to Booth and it was clear she regretted saying her next words. "There was never an investigation, no inquiry at all, and even if they had I'm not sure any of us would have said something to an adult. But we all knew Tina didn't decide to end things on her own. Amelia acted like she was heartbroken, for a day or two, and then she went right back to being her normal, spooky self. Seeley, there's not a doubt in my mind that Amelia Tennant talked that girl into killing herself."

The information hit Booth like a sucker punch and he struggled to continue the conversation. Sweets took over and asked a few follow up questions, getting as much information as Hannah could provide on their nemesis. He wanted to ask questions, wanted to make certain they got every last bit of useful information, but all he could do was sit there and try not to throw up.

Paisley was responsible for a death.

Knowing that she had killed before, even indirectly, sent the fear he had been fighting soaring into panic. When the others stood he followed, moving mainly from social habit, rather than conscious decision. He escorted Hannah to the door and before they parted she turned to face him.

"I don't know Dr. Brennan," she said gently. "But, I remember everything you told me about her. I know everything I've read in interviews and I saw the documentary they filmed on your team. Someone like that won't be fooled by Amelia's tricks."

Booth smiled weakly but nodded. "Bones doesn't fool easily." She smiled back at him and he felt a wave of gratitude toward her for today and for what she had done for him almost two years ago. "Thank you," he said with sincerity.

B&B

Turner clutched the handle above the door as the SUV took the corner at much too high a speed. From her position in the passenger seat she could see Lance do the same behind Booth. She almost opened her mouth to remind Booth that roaring into the upscale neighborhood would only announce their presence and warn Paisley, but he slowed and she clamped her mouth shut.

"You are sure about this?" he asked, speaking into the open phone line to the lab.

"Absolutely," Angela answered. "Amelia Tennant, was born in the Kensington borough of London, April 6, 1982. She immigrated to the States in 1996 and entered Garrison Forest College Preparatory for Girls the following year. I show a property in Florida, but it's a seasonal residence. Every database lists her residence as Seventy-one twenty Forestwood Court, McLean Virginia."

Booth eased the truck to a stop a half a block from the house. The team of agents behind him did the same and sat waiting for his orders.

"Booth?" Angela called, unable to see why he had gone silent.

"We're going in, Ange," he answered.

"Angela," Cam said speaking up from the back seat. "When Hodgins is ready I want him here ASAP. But he's not to enter until I give him permission."

"He and Finn are loading the van now," Angela responded. "He'll be there in minutes."

Booth hadn't taken his eyes off the house. He had scanned first for obvious dangers and was now assessing their best tactical approach. His mind felt the clearest it had in days as he focused on the familiar task. "Let's go," he ordered when his decision is made. He turned his head as he opened his door. "You two stay here," he said to Cam and Sweets.

Turner followed him and the team of agents that had accompanied them gathered around Booth. He gave a few short commands and the armed men and women scattered to take up the positions he had assigned.

"Does it look familiar?" Cam asked Sweets as they watched the team approach the house.

"No, but I never saw the outside."

Cam nodded her head. "Me either."

Booth was the first to approach and he didn't waste time knocking. He kicked the wooden door violently and it splintered. He slammed his shoulder into it and it broke away sending slivers of the jam falling to the floor. Guns drawn, the agents moved inside. Booth could hear the team enter through a back door, but otherwise the house was silent.

He had been running on a high dose of anticipation, his heart thumping wildly at the prospect of finding Brennan, but as they searched each room his elation turned to despair. When he and Turner met the second half of his team he felt his gut clinch. She wasn't here.

* * *

><p>Hodgins turned from the sink in the room Cam had been held in. It seemed odd to think of a room in a private home as 'the autopsy room,' but that's what it was. No wonder they'd not found anything in their searches of abandoned hospitals and mortuaries, he thought in disgust.<p>

"Nothing," Wendell said. He was examining the metal table that stood in the center of the room, looking for anything that might provide a clue. "There's nothing here. Not a hair, not a fingerprint."

"Same here," Hodgins said, motioning to the sink. "Not a trace of anyone - Cam, Paisley, or anyone else. It's frustrating as hell to know who she is and where she lives and still not have anything to tell us where she is right now."

Wendell looked around, shook his head. "What would we find here that would tell us where she's holding Dr. Brennan, anyway? What are we even looking for?"

"We might find more upstairs that will give us clues as to other holes she's got." He crossed to the refrigerator units in the far wall, began opening them one by one - though he already knew they were empty. "I think Cam was hoping we'd find something in here that would tells us more about the guy she autopsied, at least, even if nothing that would hint where she is now. That's bothering her."

"She seemed pretty freaked by being here." At Hodgins' look, he rushed on, "Which I completely understand."

Hodgins hadn't yet gone into the room where he'd spent interminable hours trying to save his wife's life. "Bad enough seeing where you a prisoner," he said flatly. "Finding out you weren't even where you'd thought you were is worse."

Wendell knelt to examine the drain, but glanced up at Hodgins' words. "Emphasizes the lack of control, I guess."

"Something like that."

B&B

_It is rare that I consider someone to be like me. There is a distinctiveness in genius that sets you apart, you know you are different from others. From an early age I knew this, knew I was unlike other children and they knew it too. It hindered my ability to make connections with them. But, I weathered it within the safety of my family. My parents understood me, Russ loved and accepted me and that was enough.__  
>And when they were gone I discovered what true loneliness was. There was no one like me, no one who understood. It was a very long time before I no longer felt alone. The first person I let in was Angela. Not because I wanted to, but because she charged into my life and insisted on staying. After that it was easier, I built cordial relationships with colleagues and while I was still alone I had, as Booth reminded me, a family of sorts. But, aside from Angela and Booth, I still held everyone at length, unable to let go of that distinctiveness.<em>

_And then I realized there was someone else in my new family, someone besides Booth, that shared that same sort of damage. It took seeing the physical scars of his abuse for me to realize Dr. Sweets understands. I could acknowledge his intelligence, the combination of his academic accomplishments and young age were proof of it. I could accept that, despite how annoying I find his soft-science, he was attempting to assist Booth and me in our work and dedicated to the truth. But, it wasn't until that night, the night I saw the permanent effects of his abuse, that I realized how similar we are._

"I'm disappointed, Dr. Brennan." Paisley tossed the sheets back onto the table and waved a hand dismissively. "You can do better than that. You will have to do better than that."

"It would be helpful to know what you are looking for," Brennan complained. "A few notes would be helpful."

A sly smile touched Paisley's lips. "Don't try to trick me into helping you, Dr. Brennan. If you want to go home you'll just have to do the work yourself."

She breezed from the room and Brennan stared at the blank screen.

B&B

Sweets stood in Paisley's childhood bedroom, watching Dr. Goodman examine it. They'd gone through most of the rooms and while the other man's insights were interesting - and often lined up with Sweets' analysis of their nemesis - he wasn't sure what it was accomplishing.

"Has anything changed in here since the tour she gave you?" Goodman asked.

Sweets looked around, carefully noting things he remembered from that day - the photo albums under the bed, the textbooks on the shelf - and shook his head. "No. It all looks the same. Even that folder stuck between the books looks the way it did when I replaced it."

"It's interesting that she leaves so many of the rooms unchanged from how they were long ago. A memorial to her younger selves? Or is she simply too bored to change them?"

"The latter," Sweets said. "She wouldn't see the need to memorialize herself, but she does have a short attention span."

"It makes what she's accomplished with five kidnappings - that we know of - rather remarkable."

"I'm afraid she's getting bored," Sweets blurted. He couldn't say those words to anyone else on the team, particularly Booth. But he didn't know Goodman as well, and that made it easier, somehow.

"The fact that she's not holding Dr. Brennan here..."

"She's changed pattern. We didn't realize that until today, of course, because we simply assumed that Dr. Saroyan had been held somewhere else. Now that we know all of us were imprisoned here, and Dr. Brennan is not..."

"You fear she'll change the pattern in some other way."

"I do." He brought his hands up, rubbed his face wearily. "We thought we were figuring her out: kidnap us, make us perform some task related to our jobs, free us."

"Perhaps the task she's set Dr. Brennan requires a special location."

"What, a dig site?" Goodman cocked his head in answer, and Sweets paused. "Wouldn't someone notice?"

"That depends on the site."

"You're thinking somewhere far away?" If so, Brennan might not be released for days, and if that were the case, Booth would be... 'beside himself' was way too tame.

But the other man shook his head. "Not necessarily. There are sites in this area, or within a few hours from here. Native American sites, sites dating to the Revolutionary or Civil War periods."

Sweets nodded, slowly, thinking about it. "It still seems like it would be difficult for her to pull off. There couldn't be anyone else around." He moved toward the hall, still speaking as he went.

Goodman shook his head, and followed him. "Not every site is explored right away. Digs require funds and sponsors. It's not inconceivable that Ms. Tenant could know of a find on private property that's never been investigated."

"Would there be records of such things?"

"Certainly, someone would have records. The who would be the problem."

They'd wound their way back to a sitting room on the main floor, the room where Sweets had written up his evaluation. Goodman paused, his thoughts about possible dig sites apparently interrupted. "This room has seen more recent use, I believe."

Sweets looked around curiously, then at the other man. "This is where I was for part of my time. How did you know?"

"It's been tended to recently, there's no dust. And the decor has been updated, with brighter, more modern colors."

"Her mother's sitting room was done in pastels," Sweets murmured. "These are brighter, deeper. Flashier." He studied the room with new interest. "She brought me here last. This is where she gave me thirty minutes to write up my evaluation."

"You're thinking you may have missed something?"

"Maybe, but what does a preference for flashy colors tell us?" He walked around the perimeter of the room, reading the titles of books on a bookcase, noting some small pieces of what he called 'modern art' - blobby blown glass sculptures of no identifiable design, something that might have been a stylized sword. He cocked his head. Or maybe it was supposed to be a penis? A figurine of what he recognized as an angel shark sat on a little table next to an easy chair. It was an interesting piece, given the abstract nature of everything else. He sighed, frustration and fear rushing through him again. "There's nothing here that's going to tell us where she is now, where she's holding Dr. Brennan."

B&B

Hodgins saved the room where he and Angela had been held for last. He'd thought it cowardly, but now, standing there, all he felt was anger. The cot he'd awakened on was still there, as was the table the makeshift lab had been set up on - though the actual equipment she'd allowed him was gone. Then his gaze tracked to the bed, and the anger grew to rage as he recalled those hours of believing that Angie was dying and he couldn't prevent it.

His guts twisted as his thoughts turned to Dr. Brennan. _Pregnant_ Dr. Brennan, held by the same woman. No wonder Booth was a wild man. If something happened to Brennan or the baby, if Paisley broke pattern and permanently harmed either of them... he didn't think any power on earth would prevent Booth from killing the psychopath. Hodgins accepted that as simple truth. What was unexpected was how much he'd like to help. His gaze settled on the bed again. Maybe not so unexpected, after all.

* * *

><p><em>I believe in rules. I pay my taxes without avoidance or loopholes. I yield on yellow and come to a complete stop at all stop signs. That should not imply that I am overly rigid. I have been known to loosely interpret them on occasion, if the cause is justified. But, as a general statement I adhere to rules with diligence. Only once in my lifetime have I willfully and deliberately set out to ignore the law.<em>

_My father's trial was a formality. The conclusion was inevitable given the facts of the case. I could see it clearly, with the bright light of reason and science shining on it, the result was unmistakable. He would be convicted, he would go to jail, he would die. And so I purposefully removed that clarity. I took the only course of action that would alter the outcome. I ignored the rules and I gave them just enough doubt to ensure his release. _

_It wasn't a bend in the rules, I broke them. My father would do anything for me; he has done horrible things for me. What I have learned is that I will also ignore the rules if the cost is too high. _

Paisley read the page slowly, carefully and more than once before looking up at an exhausted Brennan. She smiled. "I win."

* * *

><p>She could feel hands on her, pushing her, guiding her along. Her feet moved, stumbling to keep up and the hands tightened around her arm to prevent a fall. Somewhere, seemingly far away, she could hear the dry, rational voice of her inner self telling her to wake up. The voice warned that this was important, that this was dangerous, and she needed to be alert, but for some reason she couldn't respond. A fleeting thought, a flash of concern for a baby, her baby, cut through the haze but it was gone before she could focus on it. The hands pulled her down and she sank to the cold, hard ground. It was uncomfortable, but she felt relieved to no longer be moving. A heavy sleepiness settled over her like a blanket tempting her to surrender. Again the voice warned her to wake, but instead the darkness grew thicker and she sank into oblivion.<p>

The night was cool and the shadows of the unmoving form slumped against the hard stone were lost in the dark.

B&B

Booth sat. He hadn't moved in hours. He sat and he waited. His body was immobile, years of training and experience had taken control, and he sat now as he had in desert and jungle, he waited and he didn't move. There was a promise in his stillness, a certainty that when the time came, when he had his chance his action would be sure. And deadly.

His body was still, but his thoughts moved with sharp precision. He waited and he planned. He would find Paisley. She would pay for this. A sound in the quiet room brought his contemplation to an abrupt end and his eyes darted toward the large monitor Angela preferred to use. The computer wizard gasped in response to the image and Booth's promise of action was fulfilled.

Instantly he was on his feet. "What?"

"Her cell pinged," Angela reported with eager words. "Vietnam."

The one word was all he needed. He was running as he exited Angela's office and by the time he reached the lab's outer doors Turner was on his heels. "Vietnam Memorial," he explained as they skipped the elevator and used the stairs to reach street level. He could hear Turner ordering a response. They had expected Paisley to free Brennan at one of the many monuments scattered through the city, but unlike the Hodgins' abduction he had ordered none of them watched. The risk of spooking Paisley and endangering Brennan were too great. Knowing whatever law enforcement reached the monument would find no trace of their target didn't bother him, all he cared about was finding Brennan.

He had dressed for this, had anticipated that Paisley - he still couldn't think of her as Tennant - would choose a location not easily accessible to vehicles and he was prepared. Without the encumbrance of a suit and tie he ran faster. The soles of his sneakers gripped the Mall grass with sure footing and he ran as if his life depended on it. He ran as if his heart depended on it. Brennan, their baby, his whole world depended on it.

The black granite wall blended with the night but the line of lights shining up on it from the ground lit his way. He could see no sign of her and his heart hammered in his chest, beating more from fear than exertion. "Bones!" He heard no answer. "Bones!" he called again as he sprinted along the wall.

He was nearing the tapered end, and still he could not see her. Placing one hand on the top of the granite he vaulted to the other side. For an instant he saw nothing. This side of the black wall had no bright lights or white letters, and then, far down the path, where the darkness again swallowed the even darker monument, he saw something. A huddled, unmoving lump at the base of granite.

"Bones!"

He ran to her, his mouth dry, the words 'pregnant' and 'drugged' and 'baby' echoing with each pounding footfall. "Bones," he repeated as he dropped and his jean-covered knees slid across the stones beneath them. She didn't respond and he cupped her head in his hands. She felt warm and the flutter of a pulse in the hollow of her throat filled him with relief. "Baby, wake up," he ordered, "Temperance."

She had been waiting for him. She knew it was important. The darkness was strong, but for him she struggled. "Booth?"

His name had never sounded so sweet. It was slurred and thick on her lips as she tried to wake and yet she had never said it better. "Wake up, Bones. It's over."

* * *

><p>"You really need to stop doing that."<p>

Booth felt a stab of guilt followed immediately by a flash of possessive indignation. "I'm not going to stop." As if to prove his point he again ran his hands over Brennan, searching for any clue that she had suffered an, as yet undiscovered, injury.

"Booth! I am fine. Stop touching me!"

"You have a bruise on your elbow," he worried aloud as he ignored her complaint.

"I banged it on the desk yesterday. There is no bone damage, it is a mild contusion."

"Bones, what are you doing? Get back on that bed," he ordered as she struggled to leave the hospital bed.

"If you won't stop I will take a seat over there."

"Get back in bed."

The curtain opened and Angela entered the exam room. "You know the whole hospital can hear you two."

"Don't exaggerate," Brennan answered.

"You're right, it's probably just the ER," Angela agreed. "But how about you remember how happy you are to be back together and leave the love-laden bickering for another day?"

"We aren't bickering," they both answered in unison.

Angela's smirk was a happy one. "I see everything is good here."

Brennan's face grew worried and she settled back on the bed. "We don't know that for certain."

"Hey." Booth immediately turned to her offering comfort for the fear in her voice. "It's going to be ok. They only ran those tests as a precaution, Bones. The baby is going to be ok."

"Booth, twenty seconds ago you were hovering over me worried about every minor injury. Now you want me to believe that have no concerns about what effect this event might have on the fetus?"

Booth brushed her hair from her forehead and leaned down. His voice was soft and soothing as he answered. "I'm worried," he admitted, "But, it's going to be ok, Bones. I promise."

"You can't possibly," Brennan began to object but he silenced her with a soft kiss. Brennan's rational inner voice scolded her for the way she welcomed his mouth on hers. She ignored reason and cupped her hand against his cheek to express her thanks.

The curtain parted again and the doctor returned followed by a technician pushing a machine on wheels. "Temperance, we have your results." Booth turned on him so fast that he quickly raised his hands in a gesture of calm. "The bloodwork looked clear. I can't confirm you received Xyrem in the initial abduction as it has had no lingering effect. I can tell you that tonight you ingested Xanax and a one-time dosage would metabolize quickly without passing to the baby."

"If you are satisfied, why did you bring in an ultrasound machine?" Brennan demanded suspiciously.

"It never hurts to take a look, right?" he answered as he gestured to the machine. "We'll do a visual inspection, just to set everyone's mind at ease. A little peek at the little one and then you can go home."

"Very well," she agreed clearly eager for the opportunity.

Angela excused herself and slipped from the room, but Brennan hardly heard her as she focused on the small monitor. "The weight gain is substantial," she noted.

Booth shook his head unable to see much distinction in the grainy grey image. "Is everything ok, Doc?" he asked.

"I'd say everything looks perfect," the doctor answered as he smiled at the image. He turned to them. "Do you know the sex?" Booth looked at Brennan and they both shook their heads. "Would you like to know?"

"You already know, huh, Bones?" Booth asked instead of answering.

"It is obvious."

Booth chuckled. "Not to me." He turned to the doctor watching them with a smile. "Well, Doc?"

"It's a girl."

Booth looked first at the picture on the screen and then to Brennan wearing a growing smile that held all his joy. "A girl. We're having a little baby girl, Bones," he said with wonder.

"Yes, I know," she agreed laughing lightly at him as tears pooled in her eyes.

Booth leaned down to rest his head against hers and his hand took hers. He lifted their hands and kissed her fingers. "A girl," he repeated with happiness.

Brennan lost her battle to stem the happy tears and they rolled down her cheeks. "Our daughter," she said as she felt a new sense of wonder.

There was a squeak of a shoe on the tile floor and then Sweets and Hodgins tumbled through the curtain. They looked sheepish to have created the intrusion and Sweets' cheeks flamed red with guilt. Hodgins tried to play it cool. "A girl, huh?" he asked with enthusiasm.

"Thanks for joining us, Hodgins," Booth complained.

The curtain parted completely and Cam and Angela joined them. "Yeah, yeah, so we listened," Angela said as she scurried to Brennan's side. "You didn't really think I wouldn't, did you?"

Angela wrapped Brennan in a hug and Cam did the same with Booth. "Congratulations, Big Guy," she said to him. "Macon will be so excited to have a little girlfriend."

Booth pulled away and looked at her in shock. "She won't be dating until she's thirty," he vowed seriously.

There was a ripple of laughter as Brennan immediately informed him he was being irrational. Booth scowled at them all, but it disappeared as he accepted Hodgins congratulations and shook hands. "What's wrong with you?" he asked as he turned expecting the same from Sweets.

Then psychologist looked concerned and he stared at Brennan in speculation. "I'm just wondering if the world is truly ready for a mini-Dr. Brennan," he asked.

* * *

><p><strong><em>With Brennan's safe return home, the team focuses their energy on finding Paisley. Will they find her before she makes the final move in her psychotic game? Join us next week for the 7.5 season finale, Star Light, Star Bright by Squinttoyou.<em>**


	10. Star Light, Star Bright

Bones Season 7.5x10: Star Light, Star Bright ~ Written by Squinttoyou

Booth looked away from the television as Brennan crossed in front of him for the third time. A soft smile touched his lips as he looked at her. He knew she would lecture him if he said it aloud, but he loved the way she looked right now. The curve of her growing belly beneath her blouse, her ample breasts, the rounded change in her hips, it all filled him with desire. And pride. And love. He kept his eyes on her, ignoring the sportscast as he concentrated on her.

She was wandering. On her last trip she had straightened the picture of him and Parker that hung on the wall, this time she pushed the African Kuba cup, or whatever the hell it was called, away from the edge of the shelf on which it sat. When the artifact was safely without danger of falling she moved on. She disappeared into the dining room, but almost immediately reappeared in the kitchen. He saw her open a cabinet and then quickly close it. Grinning Booth rose from the couch and went to her.

"What is it?" he asked as he caught her in the kitchen doorway. His arms wrapped around her and he hugged her close. "What do you want?"

"I don't want anything," Brennan denied.

He chuckled. "Bones, you've been trolling the kitchen for twenty minutes. You circle through the house doing a whole lot of nothing and then wander back in here and look in the cupboard. You obviously want something. Tell me what it is and I'll get it."

Brennan sighed. "That won't be necessary. I am experiencing a craving, but I don't intend to act on it. There is no evidence that pregnancy cravings are related to actual nutritional needs. Since I maintain a very well-managed diet and insure both I and the baby are getting proper nutrients for every stage of pregnancy there is no need to consume anything else."

"Oh, uh-huh," Booth agreed mildly. "That's why you eat bananas like you are King Kong and carried pretzel M&M's to bed every night for two months."

Brennan gave him a mild glare, but since she did eat those things she couldn't truly object. "I'm going to ignore it," she insisted. "There is no physical necessity for my compliance with the urge."

Booth's arms were still around her and he let his hands slide over her back in a soothing touch. "Bones, why are you suddenly changing your tune? You haven't worried about this before and you've had plenty of cravings."

"Too many," she admitted. Her head dropped to his shoulder and she curled her arms against his chest encouraging him to deepen his hug.

It wasn't much of an answer, but Booth understood. "You know, you have it all wrong, Bones." She tensed in his arms at the word 'wrong' and he smiled at her automatic reaction to such a suggestion. "Those cravings aren't about your nutritional needs, or the baby's. They are about me."

Her head lifted. "Not everything is about you, Booth."

Her indignation was a good sign and he continued, delivering his words with a sexy smile that usually only came out when they were naked. "Those cravings are nature's way of making daddies prove they love mommies," he explained. "And, make no mistake about it, Bones," he added as his eyes moved over her with approval, "I love everything about you."

"You don't have to say that, Booth," she argued as she tried to pull away. "I am bulky and far from my most sexually desirable."

"Wrong again, Dr. Brennan," he answered, refusing to let her go. "You are gorgeous." He kissed her cheek and then dropped three more, light, warm kisses along her jaw as he trailed his way to her ear. His hands now slid lower, abandoning the comforting caress to her back for a sensual stroke over her ass and around her hips. "You drive me crazy, Bones," he vowed. "Every day the way you look gets better and better. You are so beautiful."

His breath was warm as it caressed her ear and Brennan's eyes closed as she shuddered in delight. He was nuzzling her neck and she tilted her head to allow him what he wanted. "Olives," she breathed as his teeth scraped her skin and his lips followed with a kiss. "I need green, salty, olives."

Booth was getting distracted, but he managed to agree just before he kissed her lips. "Ok." She welcomed his kiss, her mouth warm and pliant beneath his as he devoured her. For several long minutes they stood in their kitchen, kissing, groping, and completely lost in one another. The shove Brennan gave him caught him completely off guard and he stumbled back a few steps. "Bones, we were both getting into that," he complained.

"I need olives first," she insisted pushing him toward the door. "I won't enjoy it if I'm still craving them this way."

She had moved him all the way to the door but Booth paused at the threshold and leered at her. "I guarantee you will enjoy it."

Brennan's grin was more a smirk. "I'm certain that is true," she agreed as she pushed the door closed and forced him outside, "As soon as I have some olives."

Booth laughed and gave in. "I'll be right back." He waited until he heard the lock turn and the alarm he continually kept armed these days re-activate. When he was sure Brennan was safe inside he turned toward his mission. "Love you," he called and smiled when he heard her answer in the same.

He had made this trip to the grocery store more than a few times in the last six months and as he parked he couldn't help but note that, at least at this hour, the parking was easy. He beat the van behind him to the front slot and jumped out, eager to get back home. His phone rang as he shut his door and he fished it from his pocket. "What else?" he asked instead of saying hello. Instead of Brennan giving him additional items to pick up he heard only silence. "Bones?" he asked and then held the phone up to read the caller ID.

He was concentrating on the call, but he heard the door of the van next to him open and he turned. The light from the lamppost made the gun barrel give a metallic flash of warning, but he didn't react fast enough. The sting of the needle was followed by a burning sensation and he knew what was happening. Even as his body tried to obey his order to move, and his thoughts clouded, his training supplied the identification of the gun he had seen. Tranquilizer guns didn't look all that much like real firearms. His knees wobbled as he took his next step and then buckled sending him to the ground. His last conscious thought was one of satisfaction as he heard the grunt his captor made at the effort it took to load his numbing body into the van.

* * *

><p>Cam did a quick count and estimated this was a level one response. "About damn time they start taking it seriously," she complained to herself. All it took was the disappearance of a top agent and suddenly the Bureau was taking notice of Paisley. Not that they had ignored it when Brennan was taken. But she couldn't help but wonder if the attention would please or anger their adversary.<p>

The scene was flooded with cops of every sort and the dark night was lit by the rolling blue and red lights from a variety of response vehicles. Quickly finding a place to park she hurried toward the large concentration of cops gathered near the familiar SUV. A figure broke from the group and she smiled at the friendly face. "Clarkson, I heard you got transferred. Things get boring in New York?"

The agent shrugged once. "Good timing, I guess."

Cam's eyes were scanning the scene. "You get anything?"

"Maybe."

Cam's eyes flashed back to him so fast he gave a start. "I don't know yet," he said sensing he needed to give up any information he had without delay. "We're working a few angles, there might be some info. There's an Agent Turner conducting some witness interviews."

Cam grunted. "Turner is a rookie, but pay attention to anything she says. She's Booth's protégé, he's put a lot of faith in that kid and he trusts her. That means you can too."

Clarkson nodded. "Seel always was a good judge of character. I'll keep it in mind. Other than that we're standing around waiting. I guess some fancy lab is supposed to collect all the fingerprints and whatever." He grinned when she arched an eyebrow. "I hear your guys are pretty good."

"My guys are the best," Cam affirmed. "Speaking of the best, is she here?"

"Seel's partner?" When Cam gave one nod he dipped his head toward the SUV. "She's been giving orders like she's J. Edgar himself. I've never seen agents scramble to follow orders so fast. Booth sure knows how to pick 'em, huh?"

"They are a matched set," Cam agreed. "Most bureau techs are familiar with her high standards...and her reaction when they are not met. They also know they better get this one right."

The agent frowned. "A missing agent, especially one like Seel, means we are going to get it right, Cam."

"There's right and then there's Brennan's definition. We've been a team for a long time, Gary, and we've had a few run-ins with this psychopath. You need to be on your game."

"Hey, I always bring it, Saroyan."

"Yeah, well, we're going to need it." Cam reached out to give her old friend's arm a squeeze. "Trust me, this one will be frustrating. You have a timeline yet?"

Clarkson checked his notes. "The call came at twenty-two-fifteen, Dr. Brennan reported Booth left their residence at twenty-one-thirty-six." He paused and then noted aloud, "she likes to be precise, huh?"'

"You have no idea. So Brennan gave him thirty-nine minutes and then reported him missing?"

"She gave him less than that. Apparently when he didn't answer her calls she followed him here. She called it in after she found his car sitting here."

Cam frowned. "Damn, Brennan." She sighed knowing her next task would be difficult. "I'm going to talk with her. I'll try to get her to go home, but don't hold your breath." She nodded at the Jeffersonian van entering the parking lot. "The best thing you can do for this investigation is to follow my team's lead. Dr. Hodgins will tell you exactly what he needs. Make sure it gets done."

"Whatever you say," Clarkson agreed.

Cam held the agent's dark eyed stare for several moments and he waited patiently for her to say what she needed. When she did speak her voice was quiet, but desperately serious. "I'm glad they called you in on this, we're going to need your skills."

"That's why I'm here, Saroyan," he promised his tone matching hers. "I'll bring her down."

Cam gave his arm another squeeze in thanks and then moved toward the lone figure standing several feet away. Brennan was watching everything the FBI team did, her eyes darting toward every movement made as if she were going to correct any misstep. She wore her usual stoic mask, but the way her arms were crossed across her chest, almost in a hug, let Cam know she wasn't as collected as she appeared on the outside. Keeping silent, Cam took a similar position and watched the Jeffersonian team assume control of the scene.

"That is Agent Clarkson?" Brennan asked without preamble.

"It is," Cam answered without looking at her colleague. "He's the best hunter in the FBI. It's actually good luck the bureau had him reporting tomorrow to assist with the Paisley search. If anyone can find Booth it's him."

"I don't believe in luck," Brennan answered softly. "And you are as aware as I am that we won't find him." She shook her head and when she spoke it was in a much harsher tone. "This is my fault."

"Brennan, you know that isn't true."

"He wouldn't have come here if I hadn't insisted. He wanted to...we should have been...he initiated sexual activity and I stopped him because I had a craving. It's my fault! I knew this was a possibility, I should never have sent him on such a foolish errand."

"If she was set on taking him she would have just waited on another opportunity. Obviously she was watching for a chance, it's not like this was a planned outing." She finally turned to Brennan, easily reading the panic the scientist was keeping at bay. "We all figured she wouldn't actually make a play for Booth. He's the most dangerous of all of us, the hardest to catch off-guard. You aren't responsible for this."

Brennan shivered but it wasn't clear if it was the night air or the situation that was the cause. Cam however, took it as an opening. No matter what the reason, Booth would not want Brennan catching a chill. "You should go rest," she suggested. "It's cold out here and you've already had a long day."

"You would be the first to remind anyone," Brennan quickly countered, "that pregnancy does not make me an invalid."

"No, but the added stress of your partner being missing might and that kind of strain isn't good for the baby."

"That is a platitude."

"That is a medical fact, Dr. Brennan. It is my medical opinion that you should remove yourself from this situation."

Brennan's eyes narrowed at the tactic. Her hands moved to protectively caress her expanded midsection, and she paused as she heard Hodgins calling out directions to the FBI techs. After a moment's consideration, she sighed. "Very well."

"I'll tell Turner you want a couple of agents to follow you to the lab, if you would feel more comfortable there," Cam offered. The quick nod Brennan gave in response let her know the suggestion was welcome.

B&B

Sweets had witnessed several large-scale FBI operations. He had assisted with kidnappings, terrorist threats, raids on organized crime, and a host of other bureau tasks. But, he had never seen this kind of scramble. There were agents everywhere and the mood was tense, a palpable determination filled the room. This is what happened when an investigation turned personal. By taking Booth, Paisley was making the game into something he was certain she wasn't ready for. As he watched the agents working diligently to find one of their own he hoped Booth didn't get caught in the middle of the psychopath's response to what was headed her way.

A blonde ponytail crossed his field of vision and he recognized it immediately. Among a thousand heads of hair he would know hers without fail. Cutting through a group discussing traffic patterns which might have influenced the route of Booth's abductors, he made his way to Turner. She was all business and he resisted the urge to touch her, knowing she would not appreciate that no matter how much either of them needed it in this situation. "Hey."

"You have anything new on Paisley?" she asked without answering.

His head gave a short, negative response. "Nothing substantive. What did you learn from the eye witness?"

"Probably nothing," Turner complained. "He's homeless and drunk, not the most reliable source of information, but we did get a description of the van. It's the first time Paisley has slipped up. The only time anyone has seen her nab one of you."

"She had to take Booth when the opportunity came. She had a lot less control over this one." Turner nodded once her attention on a message from a technician who was monitoring DC traffic cameras. Sweets could see the tension in her. He knew her body, he knew the rigid angle of her shoulders and the tight set of her jaw were clear indicators that she was concerned. He didn't blame her. He was too. Booth was important to both of them. His hand stalled just before he offered her a reassuring touch. "Claude?" he called softly instead. She turned to him wearing the professional expression he had watched her perfect over the last year. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine."

"Speaking to me in a harsh tone like that pretty much proves you aren't."

"Don't shrink me, Lance," she growled. "I'm in the middle of a search for a missing agent. I don't have time for it."

"It's just that I know how important Booth is to you. How he's your role model."

"Stop!" Several heads turned to look their way as her voice was raised and she shoved him away from the hub of activity. She was stronger than she appeared and Sweets had little choice but to move to the door she was so forcefully pushing him toward. "I'm going to tell you one more time that I am fine," she hissed quietly.

"Claude, please. It's me. You don't have to hide how worried you are."

"What about you, 'Dr. Concerned'," she countered with heat. "Why don't we talk about how you are dealing with her abducting the man you think of as a big brother?"

Sweets grimaced. She had long ago figured out how he viewed his relationship to Booth, but he didn't like to hear it voiced aloud. Booth would punch him for even letting her see it. "I was asking about you, not me," he deflected.

Turner snorted derisively. "When you can answer my question honestly we'll worry about me. Now go away, Lance. I have work to do and very little time to make this lead pay off." Without any sign of affection she turned and walked away from him.

"Well, excuse me," Sweets called angrily at her back.

B&B

They were crowded around the table and Hodgins could feel them breathing down his neck. With a sigh of exasperation he stood upright and turned. "I could do this a lot faster if everyone would take two or ten steps back," he hinted.

Cam and Angela agreed with guilty nods, but Brennan ignored him. Knowing he had no hope of dissuading her, Jack took a step around her. "Excuse me, Dr. B," he said as he again lowered his attention to the evidence he was examining.

Cam seemed to shake off her anxious anticipation of whatever Hodgins might be able to find and began to review what they knew. "So, Brennan, you didn't see or hear anything when Booth left the house? They would have to have been watching to know where to grab him."

She answered without making eye contact. "As I stated in my initial interview with Agent Turner, again in my written statement, and in our two previous conversations, I noted no suspicious activity. Admittedly my attention was on both my hunger and our plans for intercourse, but we have both remained extremely vigilant in the past six months and I did not see anything of concern." Brennan abruptly turned her back on the work Hodgins was doing and with a dark glance at her boss moved toward her office.

"I've got it," Angela said before Cam could follow.

The artist trailed Brennan but didn't speak until they were in the privacy of her office. "Sweetie, Cam is always looking for something we missed."

"I am aware of her preferred methods of investigation." Brennan was circling her office, unable to stop moving but with no ability to focus on anything through the worry that was churning inside her. "I am also aware that such examination is fruitless. This will be the same situation we have encountered before. There will be little if any evidence of note and we will simply have to wait."

"Bren, that doesn't sound like you," Angela worried aloud. "You've never had such a defeatist attitude. Even when the Gravedigger had Booth you didn't give up."

Brennan's head snapped up and her eyes were icy-blue. "I will never give up." She took a deep breath and moved to her desk. "I have something I need to do," she said dismissively.

Angela recognized the dismissal and left without argument. She could see the battle Brennan was fighting with herself, but she had learned years ago that trying to help in the wrong moment would only end up hurting Brennan's chances to win the war.

B&B

His head felt like it was buried under a hundred pillows and Booth shook his head trying to clear it. The movement set off a wave of nausea and he groaned. For a moment he wondered just how much he had had to drink last night to leave him with such a roaring hangover, and then he remembered. His eyes instantly popped open. His first reaction was surprise. He really would not have anticipated this would be Paisley's move. The drug was quickly wearing off and he stifled a weakened desire to empty his stomach as he rolled into a sitting position. Breathing deep he struggled to his feet and took stock of his location.

It was just barely dawn, that much was clear from the pale pink and lavender tint visible between the trees and hill to his left. He listened, but there was nothing to hear, nothing but an occasional shriek of a hunting bird and the chatter of squirrels hiding in the treetops. There was no hint of traffic, no tires on pavement, no engine noise. He turned, taking time to scan the horizon in every direction, but all he saw were trees, no utility poles, no buildings, no indication that civilization was anywhere nearby.

He was alone. It was both a surprise and a relief.

His eyes fell on a small bundle sitting nearby, a neatly stacked collection of items that was obviously left for him. He moved to it, feeling the effects of the drug in his system quickly fading. There wasn't much, but he noted with satisfaction that the meager supplies Paisley had left included fresh water. If he rationed the supply he estimated he could make it last a week. Even more pleasing was the flint and magnesium. He could build a fire from scratch, but having the tools to light one easily would save him time and frustration.

He took a seat on the ground and began to exchange the canvas loafers he wore for the boots waiting for him. The sturdy pair would do more than the knife, gleaming in the morning sun, to insure his survival. With his inventory complete he turned his attention to the final item. He recognized the small device as a voice recorder, much like the one Brennan used when she was working in Limbo. He carefully picked it up, using his shirt tail as protection against leaving a fingerprint. He knew who had left it and he pressed the play button with certainty.

"Hi Agent Booth." Paisley's voice was bright, cheerful even, and it grated on his nerves like fingers on a blackboard. "Let me start by saying how sorry I am not to be there with you when you woke up." Paisley sighed theatrically. "I would have enjoyed a chance to chat with you. I'm certain our conversation would have been delightful." A hint of accusation slipped into her voice as she continued. "It's your own fault, really. I simply had no choice and this is how it has to be."

"You were the most difficult player to arrange," she complained. "The others are all smart, incredibly intelligent, really. Dr. Sweets is quite perceptive, Dr. Saroyan extremely thorough. I didn't really have much chance to get to know Angela's quirky brilliance, but Dr. Hodgins is amazingly dedicated." She giggled almost girlishly. "And, of course I don't have to remind you of just how amazing Dr. Brennan is, do I? But you," she said once again in a complaint. "You are very dangerous and I could not risk meeting you in person."

"It's a shame that, you are quite attractive. In a tuxedo you were stunning, but I think after a few days out here you will be even yummier. I'm rather disappointed to miss it. Oh well, I suppose it doesn't matter. We both know you only have eyes for Dr. Brennan."

"Let's talk about the game, shall we? Your task should be obvious. And, it's simple really. Given your skills as a Ranger you should complete it easily. All you have to do is get yourself to safety without dying out here alone."

* * *

><p>Brennan's knock prompted a quick opening of the door before her. The blonde inside stepped back and she moved inside at the unspoken invitation. "Hello, Rebecca."<p>

Parker's mother shut the door behind her and offered a weak smile. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine, thank you," Brennan answered without conviction. She looked around the quiet living room. "Is Parker awake? He's usually up getting ready for school at this hour when we have him."

"He's getting dressed," Rebecca answered. "I haven't told him anything yet, I wanted to wait for you." Brennan nodded and followed as the blonde led her toward the sofa. "I want to thank you for doing this," Rebecca said as they took their seats.

"The story will be aired this morning. The Bureau was able to avoid making a statement last night, but since my abduction the press has been waiting for any activity in the case and they now know Booth is missing." She glanced over her shoulder toward the hall that led to Parker's room. "I want him to have the facts."

"Mom, can I have Cocoa Pebbles for breakfast?" Parker called as he walked down the hall.

"No," Rebecca answered.

"Those have very little nutritional value," Brennan added.

Parker looked both surprised and pleased to see Brennan and he smiled wide. "Hi, Bones! Is Dad here too?"

Brennan winced at the excitement in his voice and Rebecca answered. "Temperance came by to talk with you. Come sit, Parks."

Parker's look of delight was replaced by apprehension and he moved to sit between the women. "What's wrong?"

"Parker, at nine-thirty-six last night your father left our house to go to the grocery store. He arrived there, but did not return."

Parker's eyes were wide with shock. "He got snatched like you did?"

Rebecca took his hand in hers trying to chase away the fear she could see in him. "Yeah, he did, Parks." She squeezed his hand. "But, don't you worry. Your dad is really good at his job, you know that. He's going to be just fine."

Parker's eyes left his mother without agreement and he looked to Brennan. "You guys have been really careful. What about all those precautions Dad said you were taking? Did he lock his door? Did he look for danger? She's not supposed to be able to get Dad. The rest of you guys aren't FBI agents, you were easy, but he said she probably wouldn't try to get him."

Brennan took his other hand and offered the same comfort as Rebecca. "Your mother is correct, Parker. Your father is one of the best agents in the entire bureau. He is smart, and brave, and he has a vast amount of experience in both suspect interrogation and apprehension on which to draw. He will not be helpless in whatever task she sets for him."

Parker looked from one woman to the other trying to accept what they both were telling him. One offered love and emotion, the other logic, but both were clearly concerned for him and eager to make him believe this wasn't as bad as his gut was telling him it was. "Well," he said taking the hope they offered him and clinging desperately to it. "When she took you she was kinda nice, right? And she didn't hurt you and just let you go. That should mean she'll do the same for Dad, right, Bones?"

"I'm certain that is true," Brennan agreed her smile no disguise for the doubt in her eyes.

"Hey, Bones," Parker said suddenly focused on her pain instead of his. His hands were growing, but they still looked small as he pressed them to her rounded belly. "Are you ok? Is the baby ok?"

Brennan's hand covered his as it lay against her middle. "She is fine."

"Remember what Dad says," Parker parroted. "You have to eat and rest and take care of yourself, Bones. 'Cause you are taking care of our little girl too."

Hearing Booth's words repeated in Parker's earnest tone brought a true smile to Brennan's lips. The first smile she had felt in hours. "I won't forget."

B&B

He had not been this hungry in forever. He would gladly sit down for a huge helping of one of Brennan's scrambled tofu and sweet potato breakfasts about now. "Ok, that's just gross," he scolded himself. Shaking his head at how quickly he would consider consuming one of Brennan's more disgusting health food dishes he moved on. After only a few yards he found what he was looking for. "That's better," he said pulling the knife Paisley had left for him from his belt. He cut a strip of bark from the tree and took a bite. "Oh yeah, way better than tofu," he said as he chewed.

Chomping on the bark that would fool his stomach into thinking he was eating, he moved on. The terrain here was dangerous and he was not making good time which meant he needed to keep moving. He could find something to eat later, assuming he didn't find a way out of here. The path he followed was more game trail than hiking trail, the thin strip of bare earth among the trees the result of animals rather than humans. Still, it was a well-traveled path and he followed its winding course taking advantage of the easier access through the thick brush.

The air was heavy with moisture and as he neared the roaring sound ahead it became clear why. The waterfall was at least 100 feet high and the swollen stream rushing over its edge churned water high into the air. Climbing down the moss-slickened, wet rocks along the edge was a dangerous proposition, but he needed to reach the slate canyon below. Standing at the edge of the ridge he scanned the area looking for a better option.

A felled pine tree a dozen yards away caught his eye and he moved to it. It had been uprooted by a storm sometime in the past and had toppled head first into the canyon. It wasn't long enough to reach the bottom of the canyon, but it had fallen so that the opposite side rested on a ledge in the canyon wall some twenty yards down. Leaning over the edge Booth clearly saw the easy access the ledge offered to the canyon floor. If he could just make it across the log he would have a safe path to the valley below.

Weighing the dangers associated with his options he chose the decaying wood over the jagged rocks. His first step onto the tree was stable, but he took his time as he shifted his weight. Muscles tensed and ready to dive for the ridge if his new perch shifted beneath him he stood on the log. Carefully, he moved his way down. He was nearing the midpoint when it rolled slightly. His arms lifted, trying to maintain his balance and avoid a fall onto the slate and granite thirty feet below him.

His balance regained, he moved on, again shifting his weight slowly as he tested his way along the log. Several of the smaller branches crunched beneath his booted feet, but the main trunk remained steady and he moved on. As he neared the far edge the log grew smaller and he began to feel it sagging beneath his weight. Gaging the distance he calculated the force he needed to leap to safety without falling over the edge of the ledge. Taking a deep breath he jumped, stretching out so that he landed squarely on his temporary goal.

B&B

"You are all smart people," Turner began. "I doubt you need to hear me say it."

"We've got nothing," Hodgins guessed.

Turner shrugged. "The eye witness account was fairly coherent, but it didn't have enough detail to gain us any success. Agent Clarkson is still working some techniques he's had success with before, but it doesn't look good." She turned to Angela. "What about the video footage?"

Angela sighed and waved her hand. "It's almost more frustrating to have some information than none. The store's camera clearly shows Booth's SUV, but the thing is so big it blocks Paisley's van from the picture."

"Tennant," Sweets corrected reminding her that they knew their adversary's true name.

"Whatever," Angela grated dismissively. "We know her real name, big whoop. We still can't find her. We know she pulled into that space next to Booth too, but it isn't helping us find her. All we know is that Tennant," she stressed the name venting her frustration and needling Sweets at the same time, "drove a light colored van, parked next to Booth and somehow immobilized him and drove away without the camera getting any useful images."

"My evidence is inconclusive," Hodgins reported as he took Angela's hand trying to sooth away her irritation. "I can tell you exactly where it came from, but I can't say with any certainty that it was put there by Paisley's vehicle."

Turner nodded. "I still want the data," she answered. "Agent Clarkson is the best tracker out there. He can follow multiple leads and it's better to check them all than to waste the intel."

Molly entered the room and placed a cup of tea in front of Brennan. "Can I get you anything else, Dr. Brennan?" she asked solicitously.

Brennan shook her head and cupped her hands around the cup. She had not joined the team's conversation or even appeared to take much note of it. The team shared a look of concern, but no one addressed the anthropologist, knowing full well she would not welcome it.

Turner stood. "I'll be in touch if we get anything further." She moved to the door pointedly ignoring Sweets who made no move to address her.

"What's that about?" Angela asked.

"She's overcompensating," Sweets answered. "She's worried about Booth and doesn't want to admit it."

"She's keeping busy," Molly noted. "To keep her mind off her fear; we all do that." She looked over her shoulder to where Brennan sat in silence. A sad look filled her eyes and she seemed to reach a decision. Walking purposefully toward her mentor she spoke in a businesslike tone as she took the seat next to her. "Dr. Brennan, could you give me some clarification on the third-century gladiator burial practices we discussed last week? Specifically the decapitation ritual as it relates to skill and native region of the subject."

B&B

The light was fading and the air temperature was dropping in tandem. Booth knew he still had a few hours before he lost the light, but it was a signal that he would need to begin preparations. He would need a place to stop, someplace he could stay dry and warm and that he could protect against the predators he had seen signs of on his trek.

The sound of a voice suddenly speaking gave him a start and he grew excited in the split second it took for him to realize he had not found help. The voice was Paisley and it was coming from his pocket. He pulled the voice recorder from his pocket, again careful to touch it as little as possible and preserve any evidence Angela or Hodgins might be able to find on it. The sound of the perky, almost innocent-sounding voice set his teeth on edge, but he listened without reaction.

"Hi, Booth. You don't mind that I dropped the 'agent', do you? I don't think it would bother you. You aren't the button down type, really. If you were you wouldn't wear that belt buckle, or be working with such a unique partner, or be anything like yourself, really."

"Anyway, I recorded a few motivational messages to hearten you and let you know I'm thinking of you. They will play for you along the way. It's my way of helping you along. I'm certain you will do well in your task, but a little encouragement is always welcome. Right? That's what they say anyway. Personally, I never found much comfort in the opinions of others. Then again, I'm unique; better, than others. So, who cares what they think."

"I'm sure you've wondered why I chose this task. I could have gone other ways, of course. You, like your partner, have a variety of impressive skills. I considered putting your shooting skills to the test. But, there were obvious dangers associated with letting you get your hands on a gun and I decided to avoid them. I could have tested your investigative skills or your interrogation techniques, but they didn't really appeal to me."

She sighed theatrically and Booth's teeth ground together as he heard the contrived emotion in her voice. "I knew this had to be a physical task. That was what I noted about you that night; the night all of you ignored me, you are very fit. I know you are no longer a Ranger, but obviously that body of yours is still capable. I just simply couldn't resist playing with you this way."

"Well, I don't want to keep you. I'm sure you are very busy right about now. Have fun!"

* * *

><p>They were gathered in Brennan's office, not to discuss their findings, but because this is what they had learned to do when there was nothing left to do. Again, they had no leads, no clues. It was easier to wait together.<p>

"So, what do you think it will be?" Hodgins wondered.

"His task?" Sweets asked to verify he understood the question.

Hodgins nodded. "I'm thinking the obvious thing would involve a gun. My money is on her testing his sniper skills."

"Agent Booth would never shoot at innocent people," Sweets said shaking his head. "I honestly don't believe she could find a way to make him do that."

"Targets," Turner suggested. "Like the gun alley test."

"Yeah, that's what I meant," Hodgins said with a glance at Brennan. "Booth would never kill someone."

"I don't think she'll go that route," Cam argued. "She's a coward. Giving Booth a gun is far too risky. I think she will test his investigative skills."

"How?" Angela wondered.

Sweets shook his head. "She was able to make Dr. Saroyan think she was in a morgue when she wasn't. I bet she could concoct a scenario to watch Booth interrogate someone."

"It doesn't matter what his task is," Brennan suddenly interjected bringing the room to silence. "And such speculation is irrelevant."

"As usual, Dr. Brennan is correct," Cam said. It was clear Brennan was near the limits of her tolerance and Cam felt some responsibility to lessen the stress. "I think we should all go home. We'll do Booth more good if we aren't exhausted. Everyone get out of here and get some sleep."

They all rose but instead of heading for the door Angela walked directly to Brennan. "Come on," she ordered. "You are spending the night with us."

"That isn't necessary."

Angela's words had been said commandingly, but her face softened as she responded. "Bren, you know you don't want to go home to that empty house."

"I..." Brennan's shoulders sagged in defeat. "No, I would prefer not to be there without him."

"He had the same problem when you were missing," Angela reminded her friend. She slipped her arm through Brennan's and tugged. "Come on. I'll have Jack make us some of his patented nutmeg-milk. It's guaranteed to give you sweet dreams." Brennan didn't answer, but she did give a nod and let Angela lead her away.

B&B

Booth stirred the contents of his makeshift cooking pot with a stick. The grubs and mushrooms he moved over the heat would do for now, but he promised himself if he had to go another day he would take time to go fishing. A man can only survive so long on insects. Satisfied that his meal was ready he sat back and leaned against a tree. His attention turned to the night sky and he absently chewed the bugs as he searched the heavens.

"You would love this, wouldn't you, Bones?" he said aloud, chuckling as he imagined her reaction. "You are always lecturing me on different cultures and how I'm 'too attached to my western biases'. You'd love to see me snacking on creepy crawlies." Brennan's face came to him, as vividly as if she was seated next to him, and his smile faltered. "I know you are worried, Bones," he said. He knew it was pointless, but he felt better saying the words out loud. "Don't worry, Baby. I'll be back soon."

A break in the clouds finally showed him what he wanted and he climbed to his feet. Careful to keep his eye on the correct star he arranged a pile of rocks he had collected earlier, marking the direction he would need to head toward when daylight arrived. When he was done he rechecked the marker, just to make absolutely certain he had done it correctly. Then, he lay down, getting as close as he could to the warmth of the fire.

The stars overhead blinked brightly and the thinning clouds ghosted over them, concealing and revealing the sparkle. The efforts of his day were quickly pulling him toward sleep, but even with his eyes closed he could still see the face he cherished before him. "Good night, Bones," he said as if he were lying next to her in their bed. "I love you."

B&B

Sweets was sandy-eyed and grumpy the following morning. He had slept poorly, the result of worry, guilt and regret and his day promised to go downhill from there. When Turner pulled out the chair at his elbow and took her usual seat he glanced at her. She looked as tired and upset as he felt.

"How did you sleep?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Not any better than you did. You didn't get more than three hours."

The fact that she knew how he had suffered through the night actually made him feel better. "Claude, I'm sorry." She reached for his hand and he gladly grabbed it. Lifting it to his lips he kissed her knuckles before he continued. "I shouldn't have checked on you like that. I should never call attention to our relationship or any personal issues while you are actively working a case. I know better, and I'm sorry."

Turner smiled and leaned his direction. "You are really cute when you talk like that."

"Like what?" She looked so good and he leaned into her hoping to drown in her eyes.

"You know; sexy, smart, shrinky."

The effects of no sleep slipped away from him as he claimed a kiss.

Turner wore a look of contrition as she sat back. "You were right. I am worried. I'm trying really hard to remember everything he ever taught me about maintaining a professional distance. But it's really difficult. I couldn't ask for a better mentor, Lance, he's taught me so, so much. I'll never forgive myself if this doesn't go like the others."

"You do a heck of a lot better job separating personal and professional than I do," Sweets argued. "I just can't do it." He sighed and his thumb rubbed over the hand he still held. "That's why I started working on my book. It's the only way I know to process it. I'm trying, Claude. I have to, because as much as I hate this, as much fear as I have for Booth, I know it would be a thousand times worse if it were you."

"It is," she answered quickly. "When Paisley took you I almost couldn't do it."

"But you did."

"I wouldn't have without Booth." She sighed. "It's just another way I owe him."

"My list of those is way long," Sweets admitted. He squeezed her hand in comfort. "But, he's going to be ok. We'll have time to thank him."

"Yeah." Turner's agreement was weak.

B&B

"Good morning," Cam said in greeting as she climbed the steps to the lounge.

"Let's hope so," Angela wished.

Cam took note of their solitude and then glanced at the lab below where Brennan was bent over a set of remains she had pulled from Limbo. "How's Brennan?" she asked softly as she filled her coffee cup.

"It was a quiet night," Angela reported.

"Too quiet," Hodgins added.

Cam blew on her coffee. "She won't talk about it at all?"

"Not in more than monosyllabic answers," Angela answered with a shake of her head. "It's like we're in a time warp and the Brennan I knew six years ago is back."

"That's really not surprising," Cam said, thinking aloud. "I might be more worried if she wanted to sit down and talk about it."

"No danger of that happening."

"You know what has surprised me," Hodgins added. "Sweets hasn't been wanting to talk it to death. Usually he's all about 'how does that make you feel'. But, so far he's been pretty tight lipped."

"He and Turner are both struggling," Angela noted. "Booth is really important to both of them. He's like Sweets' big brother, almost."

Cam shook her head as she took another sip. "Turner will only let him wallow in that so long. She's an agent, a good one; she knows how to separate what she feels from the job ahead."

Angela grimaced. "I think we all have plenty of experience in that."

"Wendell called me," Jack reported. "It's not his rotation, but he wanted to check on everyone."

Cam nodded. "He's another one of Booth's protégés. In many ways, he's almost a carbon copy."

Hodgins nodded in agreement. "For a guy who likes to pretend we annoy him, Booth sure has gathered a big fan club."

* * *

><p>The day passed quietly. The sense of anticipation settled over everything and even daily museum business was conducted with gravity and hush as they waited for some word on Booth. Agent Clarkson sent Turner with regular updates on the investigation, but the FBI was as lost as Brennan's team. Exhausted by a sleepless night and the continued stress Brennan disappeared into her office. An hour later Angela opened the door to check on her friend, she hoped to find her taking a much needed nap, but instead Brennan was curled on the couch, looking more vulnerable than the artist had ever seen her as tears spilled down her cheeks.<p>

"Oh, Bren," she said with a sigh. Moving to the couch Angela forced her way onto the seat and Brennan sat up. Without another word Angela slipped her hand around her friend's and held it. Her own emotions were fragile, strained by worry and frustration and Angela too began to cry.

When the worst of Brennan's tears subsided she brushed her fingers over her eyes. "These hormones make me far too volatile," she complained.

Angela's tears faded in a chuckle. "It's not the hormones, Bren."

The truth of that was too obvious to ignore and Brennan bobbed her head in admission. Still unwilling to admit it she looked away from her friend as she spoke the words. "I'm terrified he won't come back."

"He will."

Brennan nodded and her voice took on its familiar clinical detachment as she forced herself to share what she was feeling with her best friend. "I feel so helpless. I realize that statistically Booth has an excellent chance of returning in the next twenty-four hours. That has been her pattern, and we have very little reason to suspect it will change." Her next words were dreadful and her voice shuddered slightly despite her control. "But, what if he doesn't? I know it is unreasonable, but I can't stop thinking that my daughter may be losing her father."

Her hands circled her belly rubbing soothing circles as if the child inside were the one in fear. "He is an incredible father, Angela. He is so understanding and loving. He guides Parker and loves him and he makes it all look so natural. He's already fathering the baby. He talks to her every night, he makes her promises and I know that he intends to keep every one of them."

She finally looked at the woman at her side and there was a deep insecurity in her blue eyes. "I want so desperately for her to have that. She deserves to have a father like that because there is no evidence that I will be a satisfactory parent."

"Bren," Angela scolded gently. "You are going to be a wonderful mother."

Brennan's head shook in denial. "I don't know that I can do this without him." A rueful smile touched her lips but there was no happiness in it. "I've spent my whole life saying I don't need anyone, that I can take care of myself and I don't need help. But, I need him for this, Angela. I need him to be there for her; for both of us."

"Bren, you and Booth are the two strongest people I have ever known. No matter what the challenge, how desperate the situation, you two always find a way to make it through. No," she objected holding up her free hand when Brennan started to interrupt. "I'm not just talking about your relationship. Although, God knows you two needed strength to get through those torturous first six years. I mean all of it, the unfair, lonely, horrible things you two have in your pasts. Booth's guilt over what duty has forced him to do. Your mission to prove with success that your sacrifices were worth it. All of it, Bren. You two are the strongest people I've ever known and that means that little girl is going to be strong too."

"But," she added in a voice of steely certainty, "it won't matter, because Booth is coming home. She's going to have both a caring father and a wonderful mother."

Brennan nodded and Angela knew that was the most she would get from her troubled friend. "Come on," she said standing and pulling Brennan to her feet along with her. "We are going to the diner. Booth will kill me if he gets back and you haven't eaten."

B&B

Booth stared down, past his feet, to the river far below. He knew there wasn't enough depth to that water to save him if he slipped and fell from this height. His gaze moved from the emptiness between him and the river to the cliff. He had seen worse. Taking a deep breath he pushed the possible risks from his mind and focused on the task. Concentration would be key and he trained his thoughts on each movement as he lowered himself over the edge and began his decent.

Rock climbing wasn't really his thing; it was a sport better designed for a smaller frame, but while his size and weight worked against him, his experience gave him an advantage. He had scaled buildings, cliffs in Peru, even an ancient city wall in the Mideast; he knew what he was doing. Carefully, he tested his weight on the rock and then shifted. When he felt it hold he slid his hand along the crag in the rock until he found another hold. Inch by inch, slowly, methodically he moved along the wall.

His progress was slow and half an hour later he was clinging to a perch thirty feet from the top. Sweat rolled from his brow and he had to blink it away, unwilling to lose the two-fingered hold he had on the rock above him. The step he needed to take was risky, he would have to stretch far to make it and for a split second he would be forced to let go and move his hand. Pushing himself into action before he froze at the possibilities in that moment he shifted.

His concentration shattered at the sound of Paisley's voice. "Hi, Booth!"

His foot landed on the target but slipped. Automatically his hand clamped tight, he felt the rock scrape his skin and knew he would have bloody cuts on his fingers, but he ignored the pain as he clung to the crack in the rock.

"I bet you are having fun about now," Paisley said cheerfully. "Admit it, it's kind of nice to relive these adventures, isn't it?"

Booth kicked his leg and caught the ball of his booted foot on the tiny ledge he needed. Grunting at the effort he pushed away from the wall. His heart slammed in his chest as he felt that brief second of free-fall and then his bleeding fingers closed around his new hold.

"You don't have to thank me," Paisley continued cheerfully. "Just knowing you are having fun is good enough for me!"

"You have got to be freaking kidding me," Booth growled as he gripped the wall and tried to catch his breath.

B&B

Angela watched Brennan shovel the last bite of her lunch in her mouth and hid a smile. Brennan might not have felt like eating, but the baby obviously did. Searching for something that would keep their thoughts on less troubling issues she chose a good topic of gossip. "So, Molly's extra rotations are winding down?"

Brennan nodded. "Yes, Miss McDaniels has developed the necessary level of skill to allow her work independently as my assistant. Further mentoring by more advanced students is not necessary."

"I'm sure she's disappointed to hear that," Angela chuckled. "She will at least miss certain days."

"Because of her infatuation with Booth?" Brennan asked, not completely understanding the knowing smirk on Angela's face.

The artist flinched and silently scolded herself. She had searched for something to take Brennan's mind off Booth and chose a topic that she should have known would bring up his name. "It's not Booth she's always happy to see."

Brennan's brow creased with confusion, but her follow-up question went unasked as Angela's phone rang. The greeting she gave was cheerful, "Alex, hi!" It was immediately obvious that their conversation was forgotten and Brennan sat quietly while Angela focused on the call.

Angela gave several happy exclamations and ended the call with a brilliant smile. She sat silent for a moment, holding the phone in her hand and wearing a stunned, but happy expression.

"Angela?"

At Brennan's call the artist glanced guiltily at her friend. Reminding herself just why she had dragged Brennan from the lab she pocketed her phone and tried to erase the look of elation on her face. "Sorry," she apologized.

"Why are you apologizing? Your call was obviously good news."

"Now's not really the time."

"Time for what?" Brennan could see Angela's hesitation. "I am your friend. Sharing good news with you will make me feel better."

Angela gave a soft snort. "Caught by my own cleverness; I taught you that lesson." Brennan simply stared, waiting for her to divulge her new secret. Angela's smile returned. "That call was from our case worker at the adoption agency. We've been approved and are now on the short list of parents waiting for a child."

Brennan jumped to her feet and hurried to the other side of the table. Hugging a very startled Angela she shared her pleasure. "I am most pleased to know that. You will be a wonderful mother."

"Didn't I just say that to you?" Angela asked with a laugh as she returned Brennan's hug.

* * *

><p>The day passed in the same manner as the day before and as darkness settled over DC there was still no sign of Booth. Angela again tried to invite Brennan to spend the night with her and Hodgins, but Brennan refused. When she learned Brennan's refusal was due to a scheduled visit with Parker, Angela relented, but she was concerned.<p>

"Bren, are you sure you can do this? I'm sure Rebecca would understand if you didn't keep Parker's schedule."

"Booth would prefer it," she insisted. She paused and then continued, revealing a slight shock at her own words. "I would prefer it."

Brennan still felt like a beginner when it came to her parental role in Parker's life. The two had settled into a comfortable exchange that was built solidly on the friendship they had developed over six years and she was learning to be more confident, but in many situations she was still learning her way. Defining their relationship had been important to her from the instant she and Booth had decided to make their partnership all that it should be. Lately, she had been especially diligent to explore her dynamic with Booth's oldest child, feeling that it should be solidified before the baby's arrival. And so, she had insisted on adhering to the schedule she felt a sense of relief.

Parker also began to relax and when they entered the front door of the Booth/Brennan household he appeared almost his normal, cheerful, self. "Thanks for agreeing with pizza, Bones," he said as he set the warm box on the counter.

"I enjoy it very much," she admitted. "I had no objection."

"Bones!" Parker chastised as he watched her straining to reach plates in the cabinet. "I'll get it!" He pushed one of the kitchen barstools to the counter and scrambled up. "You should sit down and rest," he scolded as he carefully climbed down to the floor.

Brennan ignored him and poured two glasses of milk before she joined him at the table. "Where is the grated Romano?"

Parker jumped from his seat. "I've got it!"

Brennan watched him fetch the cheese from the refrigerator with growing suspicion. She didn't voice it, but when he insisted on clearing their dishes after the meal she knew she was correct. "Parker, you must stop that."

"Stop what?"

Brennan took him by the arm and pulled him back into his seat. "Stop trying to do everything for me. I don't need you to take care of me."

"I wasn't! I was..." he stammered trying to find a denial that would be believable.

"You were trying to take care of me because you believe it is what your father would want," she insisted, knowing it was true. The flush that grew on Parker's cheeks told her she was again correct. "Parker," she said more gently. "You are correct, that your father would want you to be helpful, but that doesn't mean you must do everything." She gave him a crooked smile. "In all the months we have been living here I've never once seen you volunteer to clear the dishes."

"First time for everything, Bones," he said sheepishly.

Brennan chuckled, but her eyes were serious. "Parker, it is my job to help take care of you. You have no such responsibility." She saw the same stubborn refusal building in him as it did in his father and she continued. "At least for now, that is true. But, when the baby comes I will need your help." She chuckled again and this time it was more lighthearted. "I anticipate needing all the help I can get."

"Ok, Bones."

Brennan carried her own plate to the sink and Parker followed with his. "Bones?" he asked as she rinsed the plates and loaded the dishwasher.

"Yes?"

"Do you really think Dad will be ok?"

Brennan turned to face him. "Yes, Parker, I really do."

There was a look of relief in his eyes and he smiled. "I'm glad you said that," he admitted. "You never lie to me, Bones or tell me fibs because you think I'm too young to know the truth. So, if you say Dad will be ok, then I know it's true."

"It's true," Brennan agreed. She pulled him to her and Parker hugged her as well as he could given the growing bulk of her middle. "It is true," she repeated before dropping a kiss to the top of his head.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Join us next week when Booth and the team find themselves digging deep within themselves to bring Booth home and Paisley to justice in Out Came The Sun by Squinttoyou and Rynogeny.<strong>_


	11. Out Came The Sun

7.5x11: Out Came The Sun ~ Written by Squinttoyou and Rynogeny

Sweets absently took a bite of toast and turned the page of the Washington Post. There was comfort in the morning ritual of reading the paper while eating breakfast, perhaps especially when life was overshadowed by the darkness, as it was now, with Booth still missing. The fact that he couldn't remember what he'd just read was beside the point.

He sipped his coffee, turned another page, his thoughts moving from Booth to Paisley. She'd run through the entire team, now. Was Booth to be some special capstone on her project? If he did reappear, essentially unharmed, as they all expected, would Paisley simply go on with her life? Or would she, having accomplished her goal in its entirety, find a new goal? Target someone else, some other unsuspecting group of people?

He'd not said so to anyone, but he was afraid the answer might be yes. Given her short attention span, maybe she'd find something else to distract her or maybe she wouldn't. But wouldn't she find the thought of continuing to make people – strong, intelligent people – dance to her tune irresistible? His thoughts had been dancing like this for days, for weeks, for months.

The next bite of toast lodged in his throat as he froze, then quickly turned back to the previous page as the words written there finally registered. Swallowing hurriedly, he re-read the article, an announcement of a fundraising gala to be held at the Baltimore Aquarium.

"Claude!" He took a fast sip of coffee, cleared his throat, and shouted again. "Claudia!"

"What?" She rushed into the kitchen, her blouse barely buttoned. "What is it?"

In his excitement, he'd stood, nearly knocking the toast to the floor. He grabbed it, then stabbed a finger on the paper. "There's a fundraiser tonight in Baltimore Aquarium, to raise money for a new angel shark exhibit." He looked down, read the paragraph aloud. "A new exhibit dedicated to education about the species, and to further its protection." He looked up, noted her confused expression. "Claud, this will be irresistible to Paisley. It says a number of socially prominent people will be there, including some from the UK, where the shark's already a protected species. And when Dr. Goodman and I were in her house when she had Brennan, there was a figurine of one of this species of shark next to her chair. She'll be at this thing, Claude. I'm certain of it. This is our chance."

She looked at him for a beat, her expression moving from thoughtful to proud, and then nodded. "I'm meeting Clarkson first thing this morning. I'll bounce it past him."

B&B

Booth was on the move. The night had been short and he knew enough to get moving at first light. You didn't sit still if you were being tracked. You didn't sleep either. He had dozed, but never slept the entire night, his back braced against a tree for protection and his eyes and mind focused on the darkness around him. He had jolted to alert with every sound in the night after seeing his stalker.

He was lucky, really, that it was a young cat. Its inexperience had made it impatient and it had revealed itself to him while he was still awake. Weariness made his steps shaky and he stopped to splash water from the creek onto his face. The cold and wet helped rid him of the fatigue and he pushed on still thinking about the incident last night.

He had been stopped for the night, bedding down after finishing the fish he had roasted. He had been stoking the fire and as he turned away from its light he had caught the gleam of two eyes. He had immediately stilled, making no sudden moves as he tried to determine what was out there. His initial concern had been that it was a bear. He had seen tracks and scat and knew he was in active bear country. But, the eyes weren't right and when he heard a low growl he knew he was looking at the eyes of a mountain lion instead.

Moving slowly he had turned back to the fire and grasped one of the burning limbs he had just laid down. Then, still moving slowly he had stood tall and turned back to face the cat. Raising the stick over his head made him appear even taller and he watched the yellow eyes follow the flame up into the air. The cat had hissed, confused by the suddenly towering enemy and Booth had hurled the burning limb. The ploy worked and the cat had bolted leaving no sign despite an hour long search. Still, he had settled against the tree and sleep had not come.

* * *

><p>Force of will kept Turner's face neutral. She didn't know Clarkson well, but past experience – and common sense – told her it wouldn't win any points for her side if she let him see her frustration.<p>

She couldn't decide if it made it worse or better that the older agent was obviously frustrated, too. "Turner, we're in the middle of a major op here. We're chasing down leads as fast as we can. I don't have time to send people to a fancy party in Baltimore."

Digging deep for patience, she said, "It's not just a party. It's a fundraiser, for a cause Tenant is interested in. She'll be there – a similar fundraiser is how this all started. She crashed it to-"

"-meet the Jeffersonian team. I read the report," he snapped. "That doesn't mean she'll be at this one. She's in the middle of an op herself right now, remember? Kidnapped federal agent? She's not going to hare off to Baltimore and leave him alone."

God, she missed Booth. He would at least listen when someone else had an idea. "She left both Dr. Hodgins and Dr. Saroyan for several hours during their tasks," she noted.

"Do you have a single piece of hard evidence for this? An invitation addressed to Tenant? A schedule of events from the Aquarium?"

"No, sir. But Dr. Sweets-"

"Your boyfriend would be more useful looking at the list of properties we've found in Tenant or her husband's name. That's what I need people focused on. She's not gone back to the house in McClean, so she's got another bolt hole somewhere. We find it, we find her, we find Agent Booth.

He was so smug. She nearly pointed out that it hadn't worked that way when they found the house in McClean while Brennan was missing, but she held back.

"Or the money," he continued. "I've got others tracking down credit cards and bank accounts in Tenant's name, as well as looking for cell phone accounts. That's how we'll find her." His expression softened, just a bit. "Look, Turner. Sweets seems to be a good kid. Psych has its place in the courtroom, especially explaining to juries that perps shouldn't get off murder charges because their mommies spanked them too hard. And I know both of you want to find Agent Booth. But I'm not taking people off legit inquiries for a wild goose chase."

"Yes, sir." The man was a moron. Unable to say anything else, Turner spun and marched from Clarkson's office. Indignation carried her past the elevator to the stairs so she could keep moving. How could someone Dr. Saroyan apparently respected – and had said Booth did, as well – be so stupid about modern investigative techniques?

She was still muttering when she reached Lance's office. He looked up, his expression shifting from one of welcome to concerned. "Claude?"

"Come with me," she said.

It was a measure of their relationship that he stood, grabbed his keys off his desk. "Where are we going?"

"To Baltimore, to prove shrinks aren't useless."

"Awesome."

It was good to see him grin.

B&B

"Dr. Brennan?" Molly repeated.

"I'm sorry, Miss McDaniels," Brennan said shaking herself from her thoughts. "What did you ask?"

"I was wondering if the post-lateral striations were indication of the short bayonet."

Brennan's eyes dropped to the remains of the World War I soldier between them. Her practiced eye quickly dismissed her student's suggestion and she corrected her. "The depth of the mark is more congruent with the fascine knife."

Molly nodded as she noted the difference. "The larger fascine was used for machine gun emplacements, wasn't it?" When Brennan didn't answer she looked up again. A sad light filled her eyes and she swallowed the lump she felt forming in her throat. This was the fourth time her mentor had become lost in her own thoughts. She was obviously very worried. "Would you like to take a break, Dr. Brennan?"

That question got an immediate reaction and Brennan's eyes snapped to the concerned face of her intern. "I do not require a break," she said coolly.

"Of course not," Molly agreed with a blush.

"Dr. Brennan," Wendell called as she entered the Limbo exam room. "I've completed the calibrations you requested."

As he spoke he gestured over his shoulder in the direction he had been working and the movement made him grimace. Molly gave him a look of sympathy. "Are you ok?"

"Fine," Wendell answered dismissively, overacting as he tried to prove he felt no pain. "I had hockey practice last night and since we were shorthanded I played center." He was half way through his explanation when he realized the implication. They were shorthanded because of Booth's absence. He looked to Brennan and his eyes widened as he saw tears in her eyes. "Aw, geez, Dr. Brennan, I'm sorry."

"Mr. Bray, would you assist Miss McDaniels in the review of these remains," Brennan asked, her voice shaking, as she controlled her tears. "I seem to be experiencing an unexpected emotional imbalance."

"Sorry!" Wendell called again as Brennan quickly left the room. He felt like kicking himself, but as he turned his attention to the girl still in the room he felt something completely different. Ignoring it, he stepped to the table. "Guess you should tell me where you left off," he said trying to sound like an expert.

Molly's hand shook slightly as she reached out to indicate the work she and Brennan had completed, and her cheeks were flushed an adorable pink beneath her freckles. "We began at the sternum and were working our way outward." Her gesture brought her arm in contact with his and she gasped softly.

A delighted smile touched Wendell's lips and he leaned over as if looking at the small marks on the bone. The move also brought him very close to her and he looked into her eyes with a smile-induced twinkle. "Good place to start."

B&B

It lay at the bottom of hill, stretching out like a brown ribbon of hope. The logging road wasn't well used, but he didn't care. He'd walk another forty miles as long as he had a sign of civilization to follow. Without wasting another moment he began to move down the hill. Gravity suggested he move faster and his excitement agreed, unable to fight his elation he began to run. Bounding over fallen branches, scurrying over rocks, he descended the hill at breakneck speed. A loud whoop of excitement burst from him and he cheered his success as he ran.

As his foot touched the graveled shoulder of the road the now familiar voice of his captor spoke. "Hi, Booth! How's it going? I bet you've seen some great wildlife. I'm a fan of animals, they are far more enjoyable than most people." Her cheerful monolog continued and Booth walked along the road listening, letting every word she spoke fill his mind. "You are on day three now, so I just wanted to drop you a line to say 'keep up the good work'. Have fun."

As Paisley's message went silent Booth continued to walk and the gravel road crunched beneath his feet. He listened to the rhythmic sound for a few moments, letting the familiar beat of boots on the ground fill him with purpose. "Hope you had fun, bitch," he said to Paisley's lingering presence. "Because this road leads straight to you and I'm coming."

The tempo of his steps increased and he broke into a run.

* * *

><p>Sweets stood next to Claudia at the entrance to the aquarium atrium where the fundraiser was being held. The lights were low, drawing attention to the monitors strategically placed along the walls that were playing videos of various subspecies of angel sharks. He'd been to some fancy parties in DC, but this was particularly slick.<p>

"It was good of Dr. Brennan to call ahead for us," Claudia murmured.

Since it wasn't a sanctioned bureau op, they'd decided on a softer approach. Both wore evening clothes, and Dr. Brennan, who knew someone on the board of directors, had arranged their admission to the event. "If she doesn't have contacts through the Jeffersonian, she will through the publishing industry," Sweets replied, his attention shifting from the setup to the guests already mingling on the floor. Paisley had to be here. She simply had to.

And then he saw her, and a fierce satisfaction went through him. He wasn't perfect, but damn Clarkson for doubting he'd get this one right. Not when he'd done the psych eval as a hostage. He reached for Claudia's hand, squeezed. "There," he said. "Over by the bar." He'd wondered if he'd immediately identify her out of the context of his memories – and nightmares. But recognition had been immediate.

She was wearing a long dress – impossible to tell the color from here, but he'd bet it was blue, to match her eyes. Her hair was piled on top of her head, but the way she cocked her head, studying the woman she was chatting with…he'd never forget that pose. Did the woman she was talking to feel like a bug under a microscope? Or was that only for those who _realized_ that's what they were?

"Lance?" Claudia's voice was soft, and he glanced at her, realized he was gripping her hand hard enough to leave bruises.

He immediately relaxed, rubbed the abused fingers in apology. "I'm fine," he said.

"Do you see Adam?"

"No." He glanced around the rest of the room again. "He may not be here. He doesn't attend all of these sorts of things with her."

"Will he act out when we take her and harm Booth in retaliation when we arrest her, do you think?" Her voice was steady, but he heard the underlying tension.

His gaze still focused on the woman across the room, he considered the question. "No. He only does what she tells him to do, and it wouldn't have occurred to her to have that contingency plan in place. She's too sure of herself." He gave her a brief glance. "How should we play this?"

Claudia studied the room. "I'll go that way, come up from behind her. That way, if she bolts toward either set of exits, we've got her covered."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll wait for you to get into position."

He watched her begin to work her way around the opposite side of the room from where Paisley was, then started toward their quarry. He wasn't nervous, he realized. Not now. They'd beaten her. And they would force her to tell them where Booth was.

She was just turning from her previous conversation when he stepped up beside her, and he had the immense satisfaction of seeing her go pale. "Hello, Ms. Tenant."

Her recovery was quick, he'd give her that - not that he really expected otherwise. "Why, Dr. Sweets! What a pleasure." She gave him a sunny smile. "I knew you'd all catch up with me sooner or later. I'm not at all surprised it's you." She stepped closer, touched his arm. "You understand me better than the others, you see how significant it is that I didn't harm anyone with my game. In fact, I'd say I did something special for you, for all of you, by proving to everyone just how superior you are."

"I understand you quite well," he agreed. "Unfortunately for you, you don't understand me at all. But she does." Sweets motioned to Turner, "Amelia Tenant, Agent Claudia Turner, FBI."

Tenant started to turn toward her, the smile she wore when she was sizing up someone's usefulness already in place. Before she could speak, though, Claudia stepped behind her, pulled her wrists back, and said, "You're under arrest."

They were quite possibly the sweetest words Lance Sweets had ever heard.

B&B

Dusk was just falling as he reached the edge of town. 'Town' wasn't the correct term, village would be more appropriate, he thought. But, whatever it was, he was happy to see it. It might be only a few dozen houses and a single commercial street, but it was civilization. A diner showed the only signs of life and he stepped inside eager to see someone, anyone, after days of solitude.

The waitress behind the counter was a large-bosomed woman with a hairstyle right out of the 80s. She gave Booth a surprised look and then smiled invitingly. "Hey there, handsome. Normally hikers look and smell awful after a few days out there, but you look good enough to eat. Have a seat, I recommend the Trailblazer Special. It's usually the pick of folks coming off the AT."

Booth took a seat at the counter. "The AT; the Appalachian Trail?"

She arched and eyebrow and laughed. "You have to ask?"

"Where am I?"

"Shirley, Maine. Where did you think you were?"

Booth ignored her question. "I'm a federal agent. I need a phone."

She didn't look as if she believed him, but when his fierce expression didn't change she pointed to a phone on the wall. "No cell reception out here, sexy." She fished in her pocket and withdrew a quarter. "But, I'll spot you a quarter. You can owe me."

The attempt at innuendo fell flat and she frowned as Booth snatched up the quarter and hurried to the phone. It took a few moments but he eventually had a connection to the right number. A smile touched his lips and his body sagged against the wall in relief as his call was answered. "Hey, Bones," he said in a soft voice full of his love.

"Aw, shoot," he heard the waitress mutter behind him.

B&B

Agent Clarkson leaned back in his chair, tipping it on two legs, and rubbed a hand across his weary eyes. Cam's office chair was the most comfortable seat he had enjoyed in days. "That's all I've got. It's not much of a progress report. I swear, Saroyan," he complained over a sigh. "I've tried every trick I know."

"I warned you it would be frustrating," Cam noted. She tipped her head and gave her friend a sympathetic look. "When is the last time you slept?"

"What day is it?"

"Thursday."

"Then...January."

Cam snorted gently. "I was really hoping you would have better luck. Guess that luck of yours has finally run out, but don't give up we might still have some."

"It's not luck," he immediately objected to what was clearly an old point of playful contention. Before he could argue further his phone rang and he dropped his chair to the ground as he answered. The information he received caused his eyebrows to rise in shocked surprise. "You are kidding." He listened further before asking a few questions and then disconnected. "You won't believe it."

Cam felt a sudden sense of certainty and she smiled. "Turner and Sweets found Paisley."

"How did you know?"

"That luck I was just talking about? We were due. Plus, I told you Turner knows her stuff; and Sweets is pretty good too."

"How could they have possibly gotten that right? It was a hunch!"

"Did you not just hear me say they are good?"

The smirk on her face irritated Clarkson, but his retort was cut off by Brennan's sudden interest.

"I had a call from Booth. He's in Shirley, Maine."

That short burst of information was all Brennan gave before turning on her heel. Cam knew without a doubt that the anthropologist intended to jump into her car and drive to Maine that very moment. "Dr. Brennan," she called quickly. "I believe Agent Clarkson could arrange to have Booth flown home."

Brennan's face revealed no hint of chagrin as she turned back around. "Of course," she said looking expectantly at Clarkson.

"I'm on it," Clarkson said. He pulled his phone back out and walked toward the door. "I'll keep you informed," he said to both women as he walked away.

"Thank you for the transportation, Agent Clarkson," Brennan politely called.

"My pleasure," the frustrated agent muttered. "Apparently, it's the most I can do."

* * *

><p>"This is stupid. I'm fine."<p>

"Booth, don't be ridiculous. You need to be examined by a physician."

"I was," Booth answered, sliding off the exam table and reaching for his pants. "So, let's go. Paisley is waiting in a holding cell and I have a few questions for her."

"You have been examined," Brennan said as she calmly took his pants from his hands. "But, you have not received the results of that examination." She pushed him back to the table. "We aren't done here and Paisley isn't going anywhere."

"Aw, Bones," he complained even as he retook his seat.

"Stop being a baby. You made me get examined."

"Because you are pregnant," he argued. "I'm not pregnant. And a few days in the woods has never hurt me. I'm fine."

Brennan had been manipulating her phone and she spoke as she handed it to him. "You have a more important interview to complete before Paisley's."

Booth took her ringing phone and checked the display. "Tricky, Bones," he complained with a smile. "You aren't playing fair." The ringing stopped and he quickly lifted the phone. "Hey, Parks!" he said in greeting. Parker's enthusiastic greeting made him smile and Booth felt his impatience fading away. He reached for Brennan's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as he answered his son's first question. "Yep, I'm home and safe, buddy. As soon as they let me out of this hospital and I do all the paperwork I have to, I'm coming to see you."

The concern Parker felt was clear in his voice and Booth filled the next few minutes calmly banishing those fears from his son's young mind. Ever resilient, Parker was soon sounding less anxious and began to press for details on Booth's adventure.

"Hey, Park, I'll tell you all about it tonight, ok? But, right now I have to go," Booth said as the doctor returned to his exam room. Shoving the phone back into Brennan's hands Booth reached again for his pants. "Give it to me, Doc," he ordered as he pulled them on.

"Aside from a little dehydration and a couple of blisters everything looks great."

Booth was slipping on the shoes Brennan had brought for him and he nodded. "Told ya," he said to Brennan.

"I would recommend a good meal and some sleep," the doctor continued.

"Got it!" Booth cried as he bolted for the door.

"Booth, wait up!" Brennan called as she hurried after him. "I have the keys!"

B&B

Booth's anger and impatience were barely in check when they reached the Hoover building. He stalked through the halls intent on pulling answers from Paisley any way necessary. As he neared the interrogation room Sweets stepped from an observation room and into his path. "Is she in there?" Booth growled as he sidestepped the psychologist.

"No, it's the husband."

Booth turned around, his displeasure evident. "I want her in a room now, or I'll go to holding and get my answers there."

Sweets couldn't stop the flash of insecurity he felt. Booth's more intense reactions always left him feeling vulnerable. It wasn't that he feared the agent; Booth would never hurt him, or anyone undeserving. But, those flashes of dark intensity reminded Sweets of just how much damage the agent could do to those who were in need of punishment. He needed to help Booth refocus that passion. "We will get more information if we start with Darrell."

"I thought you said he was a dope, a flunky?"

Sweets bobbed his head to acknowledge his prior assessment. "He is, but that's our advantage. Paisley, I mean Tennant, isn't going to talk. She's a complete psychopath, she doesn't think her actions are wrong and she won't help us convict her. She's too smart and too confident in her superiority to cooperate."

"But the idiot sidekick might let something slip?" Booth asked with understanding.

"Exactly; call it the Gilligan interrogation technique."

Booth's expression appeared both amused and frustrated and he ran a hand through his hair as he tried to adjust his thinking. He looked at his partner without turning his head. "What do you think, Bones?"

"I..." She stumbled to a halt and looked to Sweets with annoyance. "I think in this situation we should trust Dr. Sweets' clinical opinion."

"Score one for soft science," Sweets muttered in a gloat.

Booth sighed. "I'm still going to grill her," he vowed his eyes still holding every ounce of the anger he had been constraining.

"I'm looking forward to it," Sweets agreed with a hint of the same cold anticipation.

Booth moved to the interrogation room door as Sweets stepped back into the observation room, but Brennan's hand on his arm stalled his entry. When his dark eyes met hers she spoke gently. "Are you ok?"

"They are going to pay for all of it, Bones," he promised. "What they did to Sweets, the squints," his voice grew cold and he looked down at her belly as he continued, "taking you, endangering our baby."

"I recognize the list of transgressions, that's not what I asked you."

Booth's smile was weak, but he took true pleasure in seeing her make such a distinction. His hand covered hers where it lay against his arm. "Those three days I spent out there weren't easy, Bones. There were a couple of times I thought I might not make it out. Those seconds when I was clinging to a cliff or staring into the eyes of a hungry mountain lion didn't last long, but they were long enough for me to think I might lose you, that I might never see my baby girl. They were the longest seconds of my life and I'm going to make her pay for that."

Brennan squeezed his arm. She understood exactly how he felt. "Remain rational," she lectured. "We need to hold every advantage."

"Logic is a tactical advantage?" he joked gently.

She sniffed disdainfully. "Of course it is."

Booth felt better. It shouldn't surprise him that Brennan knew exactly what to say, but sometimes the changes in her caught him off guard. "Come on Turner," he ordered the young agent who had just joined them. He stepped into the room and heard Brennan close the door to the observation room at the same time.

Darrell sat at the table and he smiled stupidly at Booth as the two agents took their seats. "Hey there!" he greeted them like old friends.

"Do you care to make a statement before we process you, Mr. Collins?" Booth asked.

Darrell cocked his head. "Huh?"

Turner leaned back casually. "You are in a world of hurt, Darrel. I heard a rumor about a minimum of fifteen charges being leveled against you. A statement offered in cooperation would be a good idea."

"You mean like crimes?"

Booth rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like jail."

Darrell shook his head and smiled. "No, you guys are all mixed up. We didn't do anything illegal."

"You might want to look up the definition of illegal," Turner drawled in answer.

Darrell's head shook again. "You better talk with Amelia. She's smart like you guys, so maybe she can explain it better than I can. But, she said the game wouldn't get us in trouble. It was fun, right?"

"Fun?"

Booth's reaction had been uttered in a low growl and Darrell's eyes widened in shock. Brennan's voice echoed in his head reminding him to keep control and Booth leaned across the table. "No, Darrell; it wasn't fun."

B&B

It was hours later before Booth finally had the chance to look his enemy in the eye. When he did, she wore a shocked expression. "Booth!" Paisley couldn't help but gasp.

"Agent Booth," he corrected as he dropped into a chair. "I think you remember agent Turner."

"Of course I know Agent Turner," she said giving the other young woman a lukewarm smile. "Lance and I chatted about you a great deal, Claudia. I feel like we are old friends."

"Games' over, Amelia," Booth openly gloated. "We win."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Wow, are you sure you want to go with that defense?" Turner mocked.

Paisley's glare at Turner held hate. She did not react well to being ridiculed. "I didn't hurt anyone. I've done nothing wrong."

"You've done plenty wrong," Booth corrected. "And we can prove it. All six of us can identify you."

"Your word against mine."

"Angela's already working to verify it's your voice on the recorder." Booth felt the satisfied smirk that touched his lips and he didn't hide it. It was irritating the hell out of her. "Thought you had that one figured out, didn't you? Sorry, that little Mission Impossible trick didn't work. Your messages won't be erased."

Paisley's lips were drawn in a flat straight line and her eye gave a slight twitch of irritation as she spoke. "You are back early."

"He's very good," Turner assured her. "And you miscalculated. Booth's early emergence from the wilderness means Angela was able to abort the destructive command in your last message. While you were careful to leave no fingerprints you can't alter the frequency of your voice. We will have no trouble convicting you."

"So what? I didn't hurt anyone."

"You are still going away, Darrell gave us enough to make that certain."

The blonde's eyes widened in shock. "He can't be compelled to testify against me. That's the whole reason I married that buffoon!"

"That's a terrible reason to marry someone," Turner scolded.

The door behind Booth opened and Caroline sauntered into the room. Booth cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "We're trying to conduct an interrogation here, Caroline," he noted.

"She's confused," Caroline growled obviously irritated by what she'd seen from the observation room. "I'm here to make it crystal clear." She stood over the table, glaring down at the woman seated there and Paisley seemed to shrink in fear. "Your ass is mine, Chere," she advised.

With a satisfied expression she began to list the charges she had drawn up against the duo. "Six counts of felony kidnapping for taking all team members against their will. Six counts of assault for the administration of drugs. Also, there is one count of conspiracy to kidnap a hunky federal agent," she gestured to Booth, "and one count of assault on that same special agent. One count of attempted murder for the poisoning of Angela Montenegro-Hodgins, one count of fetal abduction and one count of fetal assault for taking Dr. Brennan and giving her drugs that might harm what is sure to be a beautiful baby girl. And let's not forget theft of a corpse and abuse of a corpse for that poor man you stole and forced Dr. Saroyan to examine."

Paisley no longer looked sure of herself and Caroline's voice rang like a clanging jail cell door. "That's nineteen charges that I can make stick like glue. I guarantee you won't ever be attending another social function. Ever."

Paisley coolly assessed the woman standing over her and then turned her eyes to the mirrored glass where she obviously expected someone was watching. She remained silent as her gaze returned to Booth and Turner and gave them a smile that would have appeared genuine to anyone unaware of her mental condition. To an untrained eye she appeared a warm, beautiful girl with a sweet smile. "I think they should have included her in the documentary," she complimented Caroline.

"So you could have taken her too?" Booth sneered.

"Because she is worthy," Paisley corrected. "I should really complain to the filmmakers though, they simply didn't do you justice."

* * *

><p><em>Five Weeks Later<em>

Jack swung the car door shut as he shouldered the bag. "Be careful," he said as he hurried after Angela, "there's a puddle there." His hands touched her back and he applied gentle pressure to guide her around the obstacle. "It's kind of windy, do we need another blanket?"

He was rummaging in the bag before Angela could answer. "Jack, it's two more feet to the door. We don't need a blanket."

"Right," Hodgins agreed. Abandoning his search for another layer of blanket he jumped toward the door. "I'll get it."

Angela's chuckle was light and filled with happiness. "Thank you, Honey."

"Watch her head!" Jack warned as Angela cleared the threshold without coming anywhere near the frame or door.

"Do you want to carry her?" Angela asked.

"Yeah, maybe I should," he quickly agreed. Dropping the bag he gently removed the baby from his wife's arms. His nervous energy immediately evaporated and he stared down at the baby's sleeping face with an amazed smile. "She's so little."

"You've said that every day since we first met her," Angela chuckled as she scooped up the diaper bag.

"It's true." He followed her into the elevator. "She's beautiful too," he added before pressing a kiss to the little head nestled on his arm.

Angela leaned against him as she also stared at the little girl. "She is, isn't she?"

"How many more do you want?" Jack asked. "Because we can have as many as you want."

"Lots." The doors parted on their floor and they stepped out. "How about we get a half dozen or so and I'll let you know."

The door to their apartment opened before they could enter and loud applause from inside greeted them. "Welcome home," Brennan said as she stepped aside for them to enter.

The newly expanded Hodgins family was welcomed by the entire team, including Brennan's squinterns, and was quickly surrounded. Jack's protectiveness once again kicked into overdrive and he clutched the baby to his chest. "Everyone needs to back up," he ordered.

"Jack, she won't break," Angela scolded as she took the baby from him. "Everyone, we'd like for you to meet Elyssa Grace Hodgins."

The child in her arms opened her eyes and Angela held her up. Two sparkling blue eyes surveyed the smiling faces around her. One tiny hand reached for Angela, clutching at the safety of someone she was learning to trust. Angela soothed her. "It's ok," she cooed. "This is your family."

"Angela, she is even more beautiful than the pictures you sent," Cam said as she hitched up her hold on a squirming Macon, who was trying to reach the little girl.

"She's very small for eighteen months," Brennan noted. Her tone held only a hint of her usual clinical assessment of fact and she smiled as she continued. "But, she is adorable."

"I know," Angela agreed, clearly in love with the tiny child she held.

"How was the trip?" Booth asked after giving Hodgins his congratulations.

"Russian bureaucracy is a nightmare," Jack answered. "But, once we were on the plane everything went smoothly. Ellie is a champ at traveling," he added looking with pride at the little girl who had suddenly become the center of his world.

The questions continued until every detail of the weeks of their trip was shared. Ellie was soon comfortable, sensing the love and warmth that filled the room, and she squirmed. Angela set her on her feet and Cam did the same with an eager Macon. While the little girl was approximately the same age as Cam's son she was quite a bit smaller and Macon approached her slowly.

"Baby," he said looking to Cam as he patted Ellie's arm.

"That's Ellie," Cam reminded him. "She's going to be your new friend."

That seemed to be all the information he required and Macon turned to toddle over to the toys his mother had brought along for his entertainment. There were smiles all around as Ellie followed.

"Congratulations, Dr. Hodgins," Vincent said as he and Finn neared.

"Thanks."

"You are gonna have to be careful now, Thurston," Finn asked with a sly grin. "Bein' a daddy an all, you probably need to let me an' ol' Vincent here do most of the experiments for Dr. Brennan."

"Opie, you wouldn't know how to conduct a good experiment without me," Jack immediately shot back.

"Are we doing an experiment?" Wendell asked eagerly as he joined them. "It's been a boring month. I'm ready to blow something up."

"Boring, huh?" Jack asked. "So things didn't work out with Molly?"

Wendell actually blushed a little and Jack chuckled. "No, things there are just fine," Wendell assured him.

Vincent turned to look at the newest addition to the intern staff as she listened to Angela's description of the adoption process. "I have often found the quiet ones hold the best surprises," he said.

Wendell punched him for looking. "You have no idea," he happily confirmed.

B&B

Claudia slanted a glance at Lance. He appeared focused on the road ahead of them, skillfully navigating the traffic home from the Hodgins' condo, but she was pretty sure his mind was a million miles away. He'd been quieter than usual the last day or so. It didn't seem like a bad quiet, necessarily, but he was distracted by something. When she'd asked, though, he'd only smiled.

She knew her guy. He'd tell her when he was ready. "That little girl's going to be a handful."

"Hmm? Oh, Elyssa?" He smiled. "Yeah, she's going to keep Angela and Hodgins busy."

They resumed their companionable silence, Claudia still thinking about the Hodgins' little girl. Things had changed so much for the team since she'd joined them, especially on the baby front. Dr. Saroyan with Macon, now Elyssa and then the baby Dr. Brennan would be giving birth to before long…Claudia had never really thought about kids. She'd been too busy with school, getting her career started and becoming the best possible agent. Still plenty of time there, she mused. Certainly no hurry on the motherhood front. But watching three women she respected – and their partners – manage relationships, parenthood, and demanding careers would be interesting, and educational, to watch.

Lance was still quiet as they arrived at their place and parked. But his hand was a reassuring weight at her lower back as they started up the walk, and he smiled at her as she unlocked the door.

They settled into their cozy apartment for the evening, Claudia more content than she could ever remember being before. Their friends were happy; Amelia Tenant was no longer a factor in their lives, and Lance… She watched him come into the living room, aware that as much as the rest of it mattered, he was the best part of all that was right in her life.

He settled next to her on the couch. "Claude…"

Ah. He was going to tell her what was going on in that busy head of his. She smiled. "What's up, Dr. Sweets?"

His expression was thoughtful, intense, as he took her hand. "You have been my trusted right arm," he began. "You have kept my course true and steady. You have been my guide and my conscience. You have helped me recognize the better parts of myself. You are my family."

Her heart had started to pound in a hard, jumpy rhythm. "Are you reciting Captain Picard's wedding toast from Riker and Troi's wedding in Star Trek: Nemesis?"

"I am."

"Why?"

His gaze was steady. "Because it's true. Marry me, Claude."

She'd thought nothing could improve on her contentment, and she'd been wrong. He was all those things for her, too, and there would be nothing more perfect than telling him so in front of all their friends and family.

As a little girl, she'd often wondered what it would be like, what it would feel like, to have the man she loved proposing to her. It turned out to be the most amazing thing in the world. She entwined their fingers. "Make it so."

His grin split his face when he leaned over to kiss her.

* * *

><p>"Son of a..." Booth swore and promptly shoved his knuckle into his mouth to sooth away the sting. He checked the injury, but despite feeling as if his hide had been ripped off there was no visible damage. That seemed unfair, if he had to endure the pain there ought to at least be blood. "It has to fit," he grumbled as he glared accusingly at the wooden frame he was constructing.<p>

"Do you need help?" Brennan asked solicitously.

Booth scowled at the mobile that was quickly taking shape as she fit the pieces together. "No." He turned his back on her and again picked up the piece he was trying to attach to the crib. He barked a quick "ha!" as it slid into place, but when the next piece did not do the same he cursed again.

"Booth, are you certain you would not like some assistance?"

"It's a crib, Bones. It's a one-man job. Last I checked, I was the man."

"You are definitely the man," she agreed. "But I do not believe there is a gender requirement for assembly of that furniture."

"I've got it."

"Your cursing would imply otherwise," she noted factually. "Trading tasks would alleviate the impasse you are experiencing with the crib assembly."

"Bones, what part of 'I got it' do you not understand? Plus," he added. "I'm not putting together that ugly mobile."

"The patterns are designed for cognitive development, Booth. The one you liked, with cute monkeys, did nothing for her mental acuity."

"Monkeys are supposed to be cute. You know what, Bones? You just stick to the picture mobile and I'll handle the bed."

Brennan didn't understand why this was so important to him, but he obviously associated the assembly of this particular piece of furniture with his personal virility, and she loved him enough to accept that. Her attention returned to her own work and in only a few minutes she was done. She held up the mobile to admire it, and was about to call Booth's attention to her accomplishment when he cursed again. Deciding now was not the time to display her success she set the mobile down and relaxed into her chair.

There was a peacefulness in this room, and happiness. The yellow walls were cheerful and the soft peach and white decor was very soothing. She watched Booth's back as he worked, his shoulders flexing and his biceps bulging beneath his t-shirt as he worked. Her gaze traveled around the room, taking in all the preparations they had made for this room, for their baby. This was their house, their life, and she could not believe how perfect it felt. The baby moved and she lay her hand on her abdomen enjoying the sensation of the baby's stretch against the increasingly confining space. Brennan had learned that she had little control over her mental state during pregnancy, but the wave of emotion that caught her was completely unexpected. The moment seemed perfect, special and yet completely ordinary and she was unable to process how lucky she felt. How happy this all made her.

Booth sensed something, or maybe he was only turning to tell her he finally had the crib figured out, and he immediately moved to her. "Hey, Bones, what's wrong?" he asked as he knelt next to her chair.

"Nothing is wrong," she promised as she wiped her eyes. She laughed softly at her foolishness and reached for his hand. "I'm crying because I'm happy."

"Yeah?"

Booth moved closer offering her a hug and she gladly leaned into him. "I'm very happy, Booth," she promised as he held her tight.

"Me too, Bones."

They were quiet for a moment and when Brennan lifted her head and surveyed the room he followed her gaze. Tears still brimming, but contained in her eyes, Brennan smiled at the man she loved. "We are ready for her."

"I can't wait," Booth answered and then dropped a kiss to her nose. "I can't wait."

The End

* * *

><p><span>The Bonesology Writers Collective<span>

Brainysmrfs (Mary) – Executive Producer/Writer

ValiumSofa (Julie) – Executive Producer/Writer Wrangler/Proofreader

NatesMama (Jen) – Executive Producer/Writer

Squinttoyou (Sara) – Executive Producer/Writer

Rynogeny (Cindee) – Writer

Stayuff (Stephanie) – Writer

Thnx4thegum (Heather) – Writer

GCatsPjs (Colleen) – Writer

Laffers (Kirsty) – Special Consultant

The Bonesology Collective would like to thank all of you who read and reviewed this last season. Your comments and enthusiasm for our project helped immensely as we worked on producing each episode.

I personally would like to thank my writers for telling these stories I dreamt up in a way that far surpassed my original ideas. Week after week, I was blown away by your work – you are among the best I've read in fanfiction and I am so proud and honored that you chose to work on this project.

On a more personal note, I would like to thank my fellow producers. It is so rare in this world to find one person you can connect with let alone three of them and each of you ladies have brought something special and amazing to my life. I am humbled by your talent, your patience and your wisdom. Thank you for teaching me what I was too old not to know but not too young to appreciate and that was what real, true friendship is.

**~ Smurfs**


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